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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23365078">Keep Me Guessing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorTrouble/pseuds/MajorTrouble'>MajorTrouble</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Roller Coaster, Gen, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, M/M, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Panic Attacks, bi jaskier, in case anyone cares, like a lot of feelings, reluctant monster hunter, yennefer being yennefer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:35:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>23,206</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23365078</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorTrouble/pseuds/MajorTrouble</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>People recognized him - of course they did! he was a famous bard after all - but not just for his singing abilities. They recognized him as the companion of Geralt of Rivia, the famous Witcher. The one all the songs were about! And they needed his help. Who was he to say no? So now here he was, still singing songs, still traveling the continent, but also feeling the push and pull of helping those in need. </p><p>And just praying it didn't get him killed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>225</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Not in your best interest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>There was a prompt on tumblr and it ran away with me and now we have this. @hedwig-dordt is to blame for this. If you want to hang out with me, I am at major-trouble.tumblr.com</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The mayor had found him standing on a table in the center of the tavern, eyes bright from wine, singing some raucous song about a woman in love with a swan while a group of patrons clapped along and joined him on the chorus. </p>
<p>“Bard!” the mayor yelled out as the song ended to an uproar of applause and laughter. “Bard, please!” He pushed his way forward, grasping at the sleeve of the dark blue doublet as the bard jumped down from the table. “Jaskier!” </p>
<p>The bard finished gathering coins into his purse and moved to wrap his lute in its protective casing, glancing at the mayor in annoyance and pulling his sleeve free. “Unless you are going to proposition me, I am finished entertaining for the evening,” Jaskier said mildly, moving towards the back of the tavern and an empty table. Deftly he flipped a coin to the barmaid as he passed her and snagged a glass of wine from her tray. </p>
<p>Annoyingly, the mayor was still following him. “Please, sir Bard. You must help us.” </p>
<p>As Jaskier sat, sipping from the tarnished wine glass, he scrutinized the man in front of him. Lean, with a drawn, pinched look to his face, and clothes that were clean but had been mended at least once, the mayor was surprisingly young, though his eyes looked much older. He was standing in front of the seated bard, but his hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles straining to keep still. </p>
<p>“Must I?” he drawled. “Is there any particular reason I must? Or instead is it that you have decided that since I’m the only stranger here, you can placate the water hag that lives at the mouth of the river by luring me there?” He watched as his words hit home, though they did not have the exact affect he was expecting. </p>
<p>Instead, the mayor sucked at his teeth, letting go of the table to ball his fists at his sides instead. “No, not lure. We would pay you, if you could help us,” he said instead. </p>
<p>Jaskier blinked for a second before setting the wine back on the table. He considered the cup for a moment more before looking back up at the mayor shrewdly. “How much?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>****</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was raining. Quite a lot, actually. Jaskier’s thick chestnut hair was now plastered to his head, water running down his spine and pooling in the small of his back. He was waiting, hidden in a tree overlooking the edge of the river, wondering, not for the first time - maybe not for the twenty or thirtieth time - what the fuck he was doing. </p>
<p>He wasn’t a Witcher. He sang songs, entertained taverns and pubs and gatherings, and occasionally banquets. As the son of a nobleman - gods how many lifetimes ago was that now? - he had trained with a sword, and a dagger, and even gotten very, very good at it. It had helped that his teacher had been so strict, drilling him in forms, expecting perfection, and getting it most of the time. Jaskier had always been eager to please, even at that age; young and stupid and very, very naive. The swordmaster had smiled and praised him and stroked his cheek, telling him how good he was.</p>
<p>And that had been his first lesson in the real world, a taste of what it was like outside of the sanctuary walls of his mother’s estate. Trust should be earned - never freely given - else you would end up betrayed, cast aside.</p>
<p>If only he had remembered that lesson sooner. But the White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia, had been so easy to trust, despite his cutting speech, his need to bite back at everything Jaskier said or did. He had taken it in stride, though, believing it was a symptom of being alone for so long. It was only right that one must harden their heart in a world that feared them. For the most part, he had been right. Geralt eventually softened somewhat, taking Jaskier with him on his hunts, even agreeing to be his bodyguard at that banquet in Cintra. </p>
<p>Now that was a night worthy of a ballad. Jaskier had taken his time composing it, presenting it to Princess Pevetta on Cirilla’s first birthday. The Princess had been pleased, though her mother, Queen Calanthe, decidedly less so. Especially after finding him in the bed of one of her royal guards. </p>
<p>He grinned at the memory, trying to let it warm him as the rain beat relentless rhythms on his bare head. No, Calanthe barely tolerated his presence after that. But he’d gone back despite that, year after year, adding another verse to the ballad as Ciri grew older, hoping that she would understand the meaning behind the words, hoping she’d figure out who the golden stag he sang of actually was. </p>
<p>Couldn’t well and all call him the White Wolf now could he? There were already songs about him with that name. No, Jaskier had tried to be subtle, tried to be clever, spinning the story of the great golden stag who guarded the wood with antlers of white velvet. </p>
<p>Alright. Maybe he wasn’t that subtle.</p>
<p>Anyway, what did it matter now? Geralt had lashed out at him for dragging him into another mess - which hadn’t actually been his fault at all, not this time - barbs cutting deep, and so Jaskier had left. Gone back to the road, travelling and composing and decidedly not thinking about yellow eyes, and white hair, and a voice that could make anyone weak at the knees. </p>
<p>He stopped that trail of thought before it led him down into a spiral he was not interested in revisiting.</p>
<p>But then had come the questions. The desperate, hopeful looks from people long plagued by some horrible thing or other. They knew of the bard that had travelled with a Witcher. Jaskier found himself helping out, here and there. He’d retained a lot of information from the things Geralt had told him along their travels. The man was surprisingly forthcoming when it came to explaining the creatures he fought, and Jaskier had taken copious notes, on the off chance some detail would be important in a song. </p>
<p>Then he was approached by an alderman, willing to pay him a great deal of coin to find and kill a foglet. For some reason he’d agreed and had dug through his pack until he found a black pair of breeches he hardly ever wore. That first time, he’d completely ruined the midnight blue tunic he’d put over top of it, but that was mainly to do with not adjusting the leather padding on the makeshift armor correctly, and the wildly swung arm of the creature in its death throes shredding the fabric to bits.</p>
<p>Once he’d gone to a proper leatherworker, he’d sorted that out, and now he had what was essentially a doublet with three quarter length sleeves and reinforced with leather that he could shrug on over top of a chemise. It belted under his arms across his chest, leaving his waist and hips free for quick movement because the easiest and fastest thing for him to do was run. </p>
<p>He may be good with a blade, but he wasn’t an idiot. And the black breeches were still a nice touch.</p>
<p>The past ten months had been exciting, terrifying, and definitely enough to take his mind off the sucking depths of loneliness and anger that had followed him since he’d walked away from Geralt.</p>
<p>Oh yes, definitely. </p>
<p>He watched the water below him carefully. This was not the ideal time to be hunting a water hag. The rain made them stronger, faster, hungrier. He wished it was a blazing summer’s day instead of a wet spring morning. But he knew what he was doing, the confidence and knowledge of his next steps settling into his mind and muscles. The two long silver daggers were held tightly in his left hand, his right gripping the branch he lay on as he waited. </p>
<p>It seemed to take forever, but eventually the water hag pushed and pulled itself out of the river, dragging a sizeable fish behind it that thrashed against it, trying to pull away. The water hag’s talons were sunk deep into the fish’s head and it only took a moment for its meal to lay still. Jaskier watched as the hag ate its fill before it finally turned its back to him. Slowly, gently, he dropped down from the tree, switching one of the daggers to his right hand as he came up behind the creature. </p>
<p>Quickly, decisively, he lunged forward with both daggers, using all his body weight to drive them home at the top of the creature’s spine. It screeched at him, arms thrashing to the sides, but it’s talons were turned away by the stiff leather. He followed the water hag down to the ground, where one of the daggers drove through flesh and into the wet earth beneath. He used both hands to wrench the other dagger free and slash downwards, hacking at the juncture of head and neck, keeping the creature pinned to the ground with his bodyweight and the other planted dagger. </p>
<p>It was over in moments, the rest of the body twitching minutely as he gripped the head, stuffing it into a sack he had brought with him. “Not so terrible a thing, are you? Just a great bloody nuisance, bothering people and dirtying the water supply. Like a… like a parasite. No. That’s not right - “ Jaskier cleaned his daggers and strapped them back to his thighs as he considered what the hag actually was in terms of disturbing the villagers. By the time he’d made it back to the village, he already had half a song swimming around in his head. Something about a tired, lonely huntsman sacrificing a quiet life and good company for constant travel and the need to feel wanted. </p>
<p>He would have laughed if he wasn’t shivering so hard.</p>
<p>He dumped the head of the hag at the mayor’s house, who was grateful beyond words, paying the coin without argument, even passing Jaskier a small bottle of whatever the local alcoholic specialty was. The bard smiled, dazzling as ever, and winked at the mayor’s wife. He headed back to the tavern, suddenly very tired as well as cold. It was only early afternoon but every joint of his shoulders ached and he longed for a roaring fire to sit in front of. </p>
<p>The tavern was nearly empty when he pushed the door open. He waved half-heartedly at the barkeeper before turning left and down the hall that led to the rented rooms. Once inside, he unbuckled the sturdy leather armor, setting it carefully on the table by the window to dry, before peeling off the rest of his soaked clothes and sprawling, naked, across the narrow bed. He breathed deeply of the fresh hay-packed mattress, trying to get the stink of dead fish out of his nose. Honestly he couldn’t figure out how Geralt could stand it, especially with his heightened senses. It was bad enough with a normal nose. </p>
<p>He wondered what else the Witcher could smell before quashing that thought before it could take root. </p>
<p>After a few more moments of laying on his stomach, listening to the rain, Jaskier begrudgingly pushed himself back onto his feet and rummaged around in his pack for dry clothes to throw on before heading back out into the tavern and taking a seat by the fire. He took his lute with him. It brought comfort to have it close.</p>
<p>Idly he strummed the well-love instrument, picking out bits of song as he stared into the fire. Was this to be his life now? Half of it taken up by wine and song and half by dangerous monsters? He felt a shiver go up his spine at this thought, though he tried to ignore it the best he could because he was beginning to fear that maybe he liked it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*****</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Morning arrived bright and fresh, the previous day’s downpour leaving the earth feeling soggy but the air crisp. He was on the road again as soon as the sun gave him enough light to see by. On one of his trips back from Cintra he’d decided to get himself a horse when he had had coin to spare. So now as he left the small village, his packs and lute were securely strapped to the back of a black coated mare that was currently trying to eat the feather attached to his rather elegant hat. He batted her nose away and she snorted at him indignantly, allowing him a few steps before trying again for the feather. </p>
<p>“Will you leave off, Thorn!” Jaskier swatted at her again. She nimbly sidestepped him, avoiding his flailing arm, tossing her head and nearly dragging the reins out of his hand. “You’re worse than a boy who’s just discovered his cock!” </p>
<p>Thorn whickered at him, walking sedately at his side now, like she’d done nothing wrong. He huffed at her, tugging his hat back into place and rearranging the leather reins over his hand. “Why I put up with you, I’ve no idea. Whilst I admire your taste for fashion, I’m absolutely certain you enjoy tormenting me.” He glanced at her as she shook her head again before arching her neck and prancing lightly a few steps, making him laugh. “You’re incorrigible. Although you probably don’t even know the meaning of the word…” he trailed off wistfully, scanning the woods around them.</p>
<p>It was five days’ walk to the next village. This was mainly due to the fact that Jaskier avoided the main roads. He carefully traced out footpaths and tracks shown to him by locals onto a series of thick parchment maps he kept rolled up in a waterproof case, telling those who asked that he preferred to take in the wonders of nature and the beauty of the untouched wilderness more than the mud and stink of the well-traveled roads. The villagers would smile and laugh, shaking their heads at the daft bard.</p>
<p>In truth it gave him time to think. Time to talk to Thorn. Time to practice. He was no Witcher - as he kept reminding himself - so he needed to keep up. Needed to be faster, more agile, and more unpredictable than the things he was asked to hunt. If he got killed, who would sing the songs of his deeds? His vanity kept him partially alive, sword drills made up the rest.</p>
<p>The first two days were gloriously warm and pleasant. The trails he’d marked on his map were easy to find, and even went in the right direction. And at night he lay by the banked fire, staring up at the pinpricks of light that peaked through the canopy of trees and sighed to himself that he’d been born a poet. And one with such a foolish heart.</p>
<p>On the third day, the rain returned. It was, if anything, somehow more torrential than when he’d killed the water hag. Despite the oilskin cloak he pulled around himself, he was shivering and miserable by the time night began to fall. In the last of the daylight, he led Thorn off the trail, trying to find a dense thicket or overhang to shelter under for the night. A cluster of rocks in a shallow valley provided basic cover from the rain, with enough dry twigs caught on and around them to be the start of a fire. Jaskier stripped Thorn of her tack before throwing his cloak over her slightly steaming body in an effort to keep her warm. </p>
<p>He fed Thorn, ate dried fruit and stale bread from his rations and sat close to the tiny fire. Somehow he managed to get warm and dry enough to crawl into his bedroll and fall asleep. </p>
<p>That night he dreamed. It was a familiar one. Trailing behind Geralt as they walked down a narrow road, the great chestnut mare, Roach, between them. Jaskier was playing and singing idly. It was summer and the breeze was heavy with the scent of wildflowers and dry grass. He was trying to think of the next line in the song he was singing - surprisingly it wasn’t one of his own. But he kept faltering halfway through and starting again. </p>
<p>“<em>It is my penance, to wear this crown of twisted vines, and dust my hands with chalk.  </em></p>
<p>
  <em> I am not listening, to stories sung of heroes of old, as in death’s shadow they walk.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Flowers can be just as strong as chains, but only when you speak their names. </em>
</p>
<p><em> All things end. In bittersweet taste of … </em>what? Bittersweet taste of what? Wine? Ale? It’s got to be something you drink,” he grumbled to himself, plucking at the lute strings. The intricate riffs and melody were sorrowful but light, and his inability to remember the words was driving him mad. He sang it through again, hoping to finish it this time, and get to the chorus. </p>
<p>“<em>All things end. In bittersweet taste of… </em>“ he broke off again, swearing under his breath.</p>
<p>“Blood,” Geralt supplied gruffly. “Bittersweet taste of blood.” </p>
<p>Jaskier stopped playing for a moment before humming along, seeing where the lyric fit in, before answering. “Are you sure? That doesn’t sound like something you would drink.” </p>
<p>Geralt huffed a laugh and looked back over his shoulder, golden eyes flashing. “No. But it’s a war song. The next line is, ‘In bittersweet taste of blood I know the end. And so my crown of vines will wrap my eyes and I shall to these plains ascend. Because the flowers know my name and are as strong as chains. They wrap around my heart and break me down until I am dust on the ground, for the next to claim’.”</p>
<p>Jaskier stared at him a moment before strumming the lute and singing the chorus - </p>
<p>“<em>Bittersweet my heart, ‘er I ever left. And bitter my tears when you saw me again.  </em></p>
<p>
  <em> Nothing is left to remind us of this except the dust that lines the glen. </em>
</p>
<p><em> Because the flowers remembered your name.</em>”</p>
<p>The dream changed then, becoming abstract, with fleeting feelings and images that swirled around him, dark lights flashing, overlaid with the swelling sound of a scream.</p>
<p>Jaskier startled awake, clutching at the dagger he always slept with now. Now that there was no one else to watch over and protect him. But the forest was quiet around him. The rain had stopped, and the sun was beginning to rise. Somehow he’d slept through the night, despite the chill and the damp. He sighed and sat up, untwisting his shoulders and rubbing at his arms to relieve some of the tension. Absently, he picked up his lute, unwrapping the casing and tuning it with quick, deft fingers before picking out the tune from his dream. He hummed along before quietly, gently singing the chorus.</p>
<p>“<em>Bittersweet my heart, ‘er I ever left. And bitter my tears when you saw me again.  </em></p>
<p>
  <em> Nothing is left to remind us of this except the dust that lines the glen. </em>
</p>
<p><em> Because the flowers remembered your name.</em>”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. There's a ticking in the woods</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello again. Your comments and kudos give me life. Thank-you &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A month passed as he moved from village to village, always traveling by back ways and game trails. He took a contract to clear a cemetery of an especially nasty wight. Another village described to him some horrible creature that was snatching children and he had to go back many pages in his notebook to find the one dedicated to the Mourntart. That particular fight left him battered and bruised and with a deep cut running down the outside of his calf. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stayed in the small village of Larkglen for several days after that to recuperate. His coin bought him a decent room in the cosy pub, an excellent meal of rabbit stew with the first of the summer carrots, and a quick tumble with a freckled, dark-haired barmaid who seemed slightly star struck to be meeting the great Jaskier. He was all for stroking his ego - among other things - but even her fawning got to be a bit much for him. He feigned exhaustion until she took the hint and left him alone in his room. He lay on the bed, head propped up on one arm, the other lazily tracing patterns on his chest, as he thought about what he was going to do next. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Letting his thoughts drift, his fingers found the edge of a scar, following the seam of it along his ribs. It was one of mercifully few that he’d acquired in the last few months. When he hadn’t been quick enough, or deft enough, to get out of the way of a slashing claw. Or an attacking sword. Bandits were still a very real threat to the unwary traveling alone. The wound on his leg was deep, but the resident herbalist had done a good job bandaging it and it barely throbbed now, healing quickly. He sighed dramatically, throwing his arms over his head and wincing as the movement pulled at his sore shoulders. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bollocks,” he grumbled. He stretched out across the bed, groaning as he lay flat on the plump mattress. It wasn’t long before he was asleep, dreamless this time, waking only as sunlight snuck through the curtains and jabbed him in the eye, painfully bright. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was time to keep going. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next village he stopped in, Valleyforge, was rather larger than the ones before. He entertained the locals for three nights, filling his purse and buying enough supplies to make it through the twelve day journey to the city of Tretogor. Summer was almost upon him and he needed to get to a place with more gossip and rumours than any village could impart. This would provide sure fodder for more songs and ballads to keep his mind occupied as he travelled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thorn would be disagreeable about carrying the extra weight, but then she’d eaten the feather off two of his best hats so he was inclined to be less than charitable with her these days.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>However, before he could get back to his room on the last night, the door to the inn burst open, revealing the imposing figure of the alderman. A stout, bald man, he barely came up to Jaskier’s chest, but the rolled up sleeves on his arms revealed still well-used muscle dusted with white hairs. He surveyed the room for a moment before his gaze turned, coming to rest with obvious recognition on Jaskier, slumped against the bar, wine glass in hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He walked over with quick intent, standing beside the bard and waiting patiently for him to be acknowledged. Jaskier took his time, swirling the remains of his too-sweet wine around in his cup before putting it back on the bar and sighing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you come for a song?” he asked brightly, flashing a dazzling smile and spreading his arms out in invitation. “I am known across the continent for my lovely lilting lyrical voice and can carry any melody you can imagine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The alderman stared at him impassively for a moment before producing a scrap of cloth from somewhere on his person. Jaskier recoiled slightly at the blood that was soaked into it, his whole body tensing in understanding as his mouth let out a soft, “Oh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She was just a girl,” came the other’s low, quiet voice. “The monster took her from her bed, and we followed the screams as fast as we could, but - “ he stopped, looking down at the ripped piece of patchwork linen held loosely in his thick fingers. “She was just a girl,” he whispered. He glanced back up, tendons standing out on his neck as his jaw clenched and he swallowed, trying to speak again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier straightened, looking the alderman in the eye and feeling the weight of his choices settling like a heavy mantle on his shoulders. Another innocent dead. Someone else in need of helping and what else was he supposed to do? Inwardly he sighed, feeling older and more brittle. “Do you know what it was?” he asked gently, reaching out to touch the other man on the shoulder, trying to be comforting, knowing he was failing but trying anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Werewolf,” he said, chin sinking to his chest. “It’s a werewolf. I saw it running back through the woods towards the old witch’s cottage.” His eyes were glistening now and a tear rolled its way down his cheek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A queasy feeling started in Jaskier’s stomach at those words and began to rise slowly up towards his mouth. Werewolves were ruthless creatures - whether cursed or born to it - and he remembered Geralt taking one down, at the cost of rending slashes across his arms and thighs. If it could do that much damage to a Witcher, did he really stand a chance? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But there was no Witcher here to help them. As he glanced around the tavern, he suddenly noticed how quiet it had gotten. All heads had turned their way. All eyes watched. There was a feeling like they were holding their collective breath. The bloody cloth was still held limply in the alderman’s fist, a banner for the loss and pain that had cut into the village. Jaskier found himself nodding. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, but it’s going to cost you,” he said, trying to put that same neutral edge to his voice that had so well served Geralt in his negotiations. The alderman, however, was already gesturing to the barkeep who brought over a small, plain wooden box. He turned it to Jaskier and opened the lid, showing that it was full of gold coins, probably enough to buy the entire village itself. Probably everything the village could afford. Jaskier nodded again. “Alright. I’ll need more information and to prepare. I’ll leave at first light.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Both the barkeep and the alderman breathed sighs of relief, telling him as much as they could about the werewolf lurking in the forest. A handful of other villagers were waved over to give their own accounts. It seemed that the creature had been here for some time, picking off travelers and livestock. At first the villagers had thought it was a simple wolf, come down from the hills and starving from lack of adequate prey. But then someone had seen the great size of the beast, framed against a full moon and known what was actually stalking them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So they’d kept themselves indoors as much as possible, hoping for help to pass through. The werewolf had become bolder, going into barns and killing livestock and a farmer sleeping by his cows. Now it had stolen a girl out of her bed in the middle of the night. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Weary, eyes burning from the smoke of the fire, Jaskier finally made his way back to his room. Methodically he laid out his armour - such as it was - and his silver daggers on the table by his bed. He added a silver short sword in an intricately decorated leather sheath. It had been a gift from a friend a long time ago, and when he’d received it he’d laughed, thinking it a pretty bauble. Now, it had become another part of his arsenal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He unclasped the belts holding what looked like a bulky roll of canvas on the bottom of one pack and carefully rolled it out on the floor. Inside were several long lengths of sturdy wood as well as a cross brace and a long length of bowstring. He slotted each piece together with care. Bolts clamped into specific holes held the whole contraption in place. Finally, he set the bow string lengthwise on the crossbow, ratcheting it carefully backwards and dry firing it to make sure nothing was loose.  It really was a marvel of engineering. Satisfied, he pulled out five bolts from the selection still laid out on the canvas before rolling the rest back up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he blew out the candles and stood silently in the suddenly dark room. His heart was no longer hammering. His breath no longer stuttering in his lungs. His palms were dry. His mind was quiet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The inevitability of death loomed great and terrible with tomorrow’s sunrise but it no longer touched him with icy fingers trailing sparks over his too-warm skin like it had when he’d been talking to the villagers. It was simply there. Like a bird on the horizon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lay down on the bed, shucking his boots but not bothering with the rest of his clothes. He wondered idly what the alderman would do with his things when he didn’t come back. He supposed he should leave a note about Thorn, see that she got a good home. As his mind drifted into sleep he wondered too if, when his blood seeped into the soil of the earth, the flowers that bloomed there would really remember him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>****</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sky was dull grey, the air still. No sounds penetrated the woods as Jaskier passed through them. He held the crossbow steady in front of himself as he approached the abandoned cottage. It was no more than a huge rambling heap of stones held together by vines, really. There was a rotted wooden roof that had collapsed inward so that the timbers poked out like skeletal fingers towards the sky. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing stirred in the forest. There was no birdsong, no gentle rustle of leaves, no skittering of small creatures, no sounds of insects. It was as if everything had abandoned this area of the wood. Grimly Jaskier knew that this was because of the creature in the cottage. He had followed the trail of blood - dark maroon stains splashed across the green grass and white flowers - to the edge of this clearing. The notes from his journal told him that there were several types of werewolves, but they were broken into two distinct groups - those born to it and those cursed with it. The former very rarely broke away from their family groups to wreak havoc on villages and call attention to themselves. And most of the time, if they did, their kin would come quickly and clean up the mess. Which meant that he was dealing with either a person cursed by a spiteful magic wielder, or someone who had intentionally cursed themselves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He prayed to whatever gods were listening that it wasn’t this last kind. He could reason with a person who didn’t know what they had done, either kill them outright or figure out a way to reverse it. But someone who had done this to themselves, who wanted this? It twisted his stomach to think of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carefully, quietly he moved around the cottage. There were openings in the stone facade, lidless eyes where windows had once been, that showed only darkness within. At the back of the cottage the stones had fallen away, giving a clearer view inside. He could see the rough wooden floor covered in dirt and bits of debris from the fallen roof. A large hearth was on the wall opposite him, coated in layers of black soot. It looked like the whole cottage was one big room, divided by the splintered remains of furniture.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And there, sprawled out along the wall, its back to Jaskier, was a creature out of nightmares. His heart sank as he realized it wasn’t human. The werewolf was enormous, and even laying down he knew it would tower over him as soon as it stood. He swallowed the taste of the rising bile in his throat and sighted through the crossbow, putting all of his hope in the laughably small bolt now aimed at the prone creature. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hands stilled. He released his breath and fired. The bolt hit home, punching through the thick pelt of the werewolf and delivering the payload of poison and silver directly into its bloodstream. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier turned and ran back into the woods as fast as he could, the terrifying scream of the creature ringing in his ears. He had no chance of outrunning it, but a headstart would mean being able to possibly reload and fire again. Mindful of the branches and roots seeking to unbalance and trip him, he sprinted through the undergrowth as silently as possible. He made it back to the base of the hollowed out tree trunk he’d seen on his way in and stuffed himself in quickly. The werewolf was crashing through the woods somewhere off to his right, senses blinded momentarily by the poison. He ratchetted the crossbow back into position and fit a second bolt in. This would be his last shot - there were no more surprises after this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He listened intently, trying to figure out exactly how much space there was between him and the creature. He hadn’t had much time to plan anything, really, but there were some things he could do that might slow it down. There was unnerving silence for the space of ten full breaths before the creature screamed again, a distinct note of pain in the sound.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had obviously found the silver caltrops then. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Extracting himself from the tree, he moved obliquely towards the sound of painful moans and cries. The tightness in his chest and the sound of blood rushing in his ears reminded him that this situation was developing into the worst of the possible scenarios. If the werewolf hadn’t been human when it was sleeping during the day, and didn’t shed its fur to become human after the dose of poison, then this wasn’t someone who had accidentally gotten the affliction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Whoever it had been, it wanted to be a werewolf. Jaskier was even more certain he wasn’t going to survive this. In any other situation, witty banter and ribald jokes would be coming to him to alleviate the pressure of panic building in his spine. But not this time. This time only the thought of a dead little girl - and the hope that she would be the only one this village suffered - kept him moving towards the sound of his worst fears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He padded quickly across the forest floor, crossbow trained in the direction of the now angry growling he could hear ahead of him. As he got closer, he edged around a large tree, trying to get a look without putting too much of himself in line of sight. He caught a glimpse of the werewolf, hunched over on its front paws, violently flicking one back leg after another in an attempt to dislodge the caltrops. It stood up suddenly, lips drawn back from its muzzle, and growled. The sound was low and deep and so animalistic that Jaskier felt like a rabbit his heart was hammering so fast at the sound of it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then the beast spoke. “I see you little bard,” it said, though its voice was distorted and warped having come through the long muzzle and lips not intended for human speech. “I see you. You cannot stop me. I’m going to eat you alive.” It growled at him again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, thought Jaskier as he stepped around the tree, leveling the crossbow dead center in the creature’s chest. “We’ll see about that!” he yelled back before firing the second bolt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the werewolf was fast. Faster than he ever could have thought possible. The bolt hit home, and it screamed once again in pain, but it was upon him before he could even drop the crossbow and draw his short sword. It lashed out at him, flinging him sideways with one sweep of its arm so he crashed into a treetrunk, the air knocked completely out of him. He slid down to the base of the tree, willing his hands to move, willing any part of his body to respond as the werewolf stalked over to him. It wrapped one paw around his throat, lifting him easily into the air before throwing him across the small clearing, directly into another tree.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier coughed painfully as he landed. His body was a screaming agony, but his right hand finally found purchase on the hilt of his short sword. Somehow he got onto his knees, turning to face the approaching creature. He coughed again. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to toy with your food,” he managed weakly. The werewolf snarled, leaning down to snap its jaws at him. Just as it got close, Jaskier slashed at it with the silver blade, throwing all of his weight behind it and driving it into the side of the werewolf’s neck. It howled, a sound so loud and painful Jaskier let go of the blade to clap his hands over his ears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It staggered back from him, scrabbling at the blade embedded in its neck. Long clawed fingers managed to wrap around the leather-bound handle and pull it free, tossing it aside. Red-rimmed eyes turned back to Jaskier, who had finally managed to stand, using the tree as balance. He was slightly dazed but still tried to duck out of the way of the claws that bore down on him. The tough leather of his armour protected him somewhat from the first attack, as he raised his arms to protect his face, but the second swing swept across his midsection and down his thigh. He screamed in pain, trying to throw himself out of reach of those long arms. He ended up falling backwards, thumping his head against the hard earth and suddenly lying prone on the ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As his head tried to clear itself, he heard rough laughter from above him. He could feel blood running down from the gash across his stomach, mingling with that coming from the wound on his thigh, and pooling underneath him. “What’s so funny?” he gasped weakly, hands reaching blindly out above and beside him, trying to propel his body away from his approaching death. “You’re the one that got stuck by a bard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The werewolf broke off, growling at him again. “Die, little bard,” it said simply, reaching down and wrapping a paw around Jaskier’s throat again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier’s flailing hand touched something and wild hope blossomed in his chest, causing a surge of adrenaline to spike through his system. His fingers grasped the hilt of his short sword and he brought it up between their bodies as the werewolf leaned down to take his head in its jaws. He speared the sword under the creature’s jaw, pushing up as hard as he could with both hands, driving it through and out the top of its head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You first,” he panted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The werewolf thrashed backwards, limbs flailing uselessly, landing heavily across Jaskier’s legs. A hollow wail tore from its throat before it collapsed, the short sword stuck firmly through its head. It lay still then, and the only sound was Jaskier’s sobs of relief. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He kicked out his legs weakly, dislodging the body of the werewolf before dizziness made his eyes close. He tried to sit up, but glancing down at himself, he realized that that was not going to be possible. The wounds were deep. He probed at them, wincing as he touched the ragged edges of the cuts. He was dying. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No one’s going to write a song about me,” he whispered to himself. “Or if they do, it’s not going to be half as good as anything I could write.” He gritted his teeth, reaching up and loosening the belt across his chest. If he could just get it around his leg, he could staunch the flow of blood. But it was no use, his fingers stopped cooperating as he became light-headed. He lay back on the forest floor, staring vacantly up at the grey sky that he could see through the green canopy of leaves. A cool breeze touched his sweat-soaked brow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Toss a coin to your witcher</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he sang quietly. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh valley of plenty</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He closed his eyes. As he faded from consciousness, the birds began to sing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was dreaming again. This time he was standing at the edge of a lake, watching Geralt wade out into the center of it, silver sword in hand. Eventually he disappeared from view, sinking below the surface of the water like a dropped stone. Jaskier waited. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The warm summer breeze tickled his neck. Why was it always summer in these dreams? Why was it never the cold autumn days that tortured him? Or the crisp spring mornings? Why was it always, always summer? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He paced back and forth along the shoreline, growing anxious as Geralt failed to reappear. He had been under the clear surface of the still lake for what seemed like hours. But then… the surface wasn’t clear anymore. It was black. And as Jaskier got closer to it, he realized that it was a frozen sheet of ice. Panic started filling him as he looked out to where Geralt had disappeared. He felt helpless - useless. He ran his hands back and forth through his hair, tugging at it as he tried to think of what to do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In that instant the ice broke apart, shattering upwards as Geralt surged out of the water. Gasping for breath he staggered up onto the shore, falling onto his back with his eyes closed, and taking deep gulps of air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey! Geralt! Are you - are you alright?” Jaskier cried, rushing over to him and crouching by his side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt panted for a moment more before pressing his lips together. “Hmm,” he responded. “Wasn’t expecting that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier laughed abruptly, short and harsh. “Pray tell? What were you expecting?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not. That,” Geralt answered, eyes still closed, though his mouth lifted on one side in amusement. He sat up slowly, looking out across the lake and then to where Jaskier was kneeling by his side. His brow creased as he looked at the bard. “Were you worried?” he asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier scoffed, looking anywhere but at Geralt. “No. Of course not. You’re Geralt of Rivia! The White Wolf! The mighty Witcher! What’s a little inexplicably frozen lake in the middle of summer compared to that?” He paused, considering. “That would make a good song though. Might have to change what you were hunting for. Maybe a siren? Or a nymph?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was Geralt’s turn to scoff. “Neither of those can freeze water like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, know-it-all Witcher, what can?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Said Witcher was silent for long moments. “I don’t know.” He gazed out over the now un-frozen lake, seeming to be deep in thought before heaving himself up from the ground and walking back to the lake’s edge. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier jumped to his feet, spluttering in bewilderment. “What! What are you doing? You’re not going back in there! You barely made it out the first time! Leave the mysterious frozen lake monster to its own devices.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt glanced back at the bard before walking determinedly into the lake. “Can’t,” he said, loud enough for Jaskier to hear over the splashing. “It’s got my sword.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Worse things than dying</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jaskier died. He was sure of it. One moment he was lying on the forest floor, bleeding out steps away from a dead werewolf, the next he was wrapped in warm, clean sheets that smelled like fresh spring air. His mind refused to connect the two things so it decided he was dead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>There are most definitely worse things than dying</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he mused. If he kept his eyes closed, he could swear he heard the murmur of voices coming from somewhere just outside his hearing. Which paradise had he found himself in, he wondered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps he had done enough right in his life to warrant one of the good ones. He felt his heart twist a little. Maybe it outweighed all the horrible things he’d done. Or maybe this was just a dream again and he was still on the forest floor, leaking the last of his life into the earth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He opened his eyes. If this was paradise, he wanted to meet the god that designed it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Above him was a simple wooden roof, indistinguishable from any of the taverns or inns he’d stayed at over the years. The room itself, however, was bigger than any he’d paid for. He was lying on a large bed, centered on one wall, underneath a window. Birdsong trilled from time to time through the open glass and he lay for a moment, enjoying the sound. Propped up as he was on the plush pillows, he could see that despite the plain build of the room, the furniture and accessories were well-crafted, even decadent. To his right was a large wardrobe with decoratively carved edges and polished silver handles. Beside it was a low dressing table laid out with silver-backed combs and brushes in front of a long oval mirror. A small, embroidered stool was tucked underneath it. There were tapestries on the walls, depicting knights and dragons, and even what he assumed was a unicorn. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On one side of the door was another table, his lute laid across it, and on the other side of the door, piled carefully on the floor were his packs. On top sat his leather armour. That jolted him more into wakefulness than anything else and the sudden movement flared pain across his abdomen and down his leg. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So maybe he wasn’t dead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ever so delicately, he lifted the sheets away from his body to survey the damage. There was a bandage wrapped around his thigh and another stuck to his stomach. He touched them both gingerly, but they seemed to have been done by competent hands. He realized suddenly that whoever it was had also taken his clothes - he was completely naked under the sheet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sighing, he dropped the sheet and closed his eyes. It made sense. His clothes were probably completely ruined, soaked in blood and hardly worth the effort to clean them. But he’d really liked those black breeches. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sat up slowly. Each movement sent sharp jolts and flashes of pain through his body, but it wasn’t so much that he couldn’t handle it. Maybe he hadn’t been injured as badly as he thought. There had been a lot of blood though. And he’d definitely passed out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gingerly he settled himself with his back propped up in the pile of plush pillows at the head of the huge bed. If he concentrated, he could still hear the murmur of voices somewhere beyond the door. He was high enough now to look out the window and his eyes widened in shock. The sun shone down on a city spread out below him. His room seemed to be in some sort of keep, up above the sprawling metropolis, and he could see the distant shapes of people and animals going about their business in the streets and market square. It was mid-afternoon - by the slant of the sun’s rays - and the breeze that touched his upturned face was warm and smelled faintly of rain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Novigrad. He was in Novigrad. The thought struck him suddenly, like a drop of water into a deep well. It echoed through his head for a moment as the implications became apparent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he was in Novigrad, that meant that someone had brought him here intentionally. He’d been nearly two weeks out from Tretogor, and Novigrad was further west than that. And the only way he could travel that fast was - </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Finally awake. Good,” a familiar, clipped voice spoke as the door opened. “Although this would be easier if you were unconscious.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Magic. “Yennefer,” he croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “To what do I owe the unending pleasure of your company?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet eyes rolled at him as she closed the door behind her, huffing in what he took as exasperation but could just as easily have been amusement. “I haven’t decided what your payment will be yet, but I’ll think of something that will make up for you bleeding all over the floors.” She walked purposely over to stand beside him, placing the tray she carried on the bedside table. He clutched the suddenly thin seeming sheets close. She smiled. “Don’t be so demure. Who do you think put the bandages on?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite himself, Jaskier felt his cheeks go red and Yennefer laughed, settling herself on the bed beside him. She held out her hand, like one would to a skittish horse, waiting patiently until he sighed, loosening his hold on the sheet and looking away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She checked the dressings quickly, carefully, making sure the ragged edges of the flesh of his stomach and thigh were healing. Humming to herself in satisfaction, she deftly smoothed on a cool feeling balm that tingled pleasantly against his skin. The deep ache that had begun to feel just this side of too much unwound itself and settled under his skin. He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in a sigh of relief. Yennefer replaced the sheets and patted his hands in an uncharacteristic show of affection.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked at her warily. She rolled her eyes again, brushing loose strands of shining black hair back from her face. “You’ll live. Surprisingly. Not sure what the fuck you thought you were doing taking on a werewolf. But it’s not the stupidest thing you’ve done in this short life of yours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier bristled at the accusation. “Well it’s not as if you were helping those people out! No, your vainglorious self was probably enjoying manipulating the mind of some other poor soul out of house and home! Watching them dance to your tune!” He was on a roll now, his tongue moving faster than his mind had a chance to process and stop. “Who do you have imprisoned between your thighs for these lodgings I wonder? Did you make sure they stocked up on juice?” He was shaking in his anger now, though the realization that it wasn’t entirely directed at her was evident in the way she smirked down at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you finished? Or would you prefer I returned you to the woods where I found you?” she said flatly, arms crossed over her chest, the smile still hovering on the edge of her lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier huffed out a breath of air and fell back into the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. He started to laugh then, quietly at first, before it became louder and all-consuming. It went on for a few minutes before he squeezed his eyes - now flooded with tears - closed, rubbing one of his hands over them ineffectually. Near-death experiences made for a very strange string of emotions. He hoped never to repeat it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glanced back over at Yennefer, still staring down at him, not unkindly. His throat was sore and rasped painfully as he cleared it. Mercifully, she took the hint and poured him water from the decanter beside the bed. He took the cup gratefully, sipping at the cold liquid so that it soaked into the parched tissue of his mouth and throat before emptying the cup and handing it back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you find me?” he asked quietly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yennefer shrugged, coming to sit on the bed again, reaching forward to tuck loose strands of his bedraggled mop of hair behind one ear. “I never lost you.” He started at the feel of her fingers on his skin before looking at her sharply when her words hit him. She clicked her tongue. “Don’t be dramatic. When I left Geralt on the mountain, I couldn’t help but hear what he yelled at you as well. It was easy to tie a tracking spell to your lute.” Her violet eyes held his meaningfully. “Where did you think that feather came from?”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier’s mouth dropped open in shock. He hadn’t even thought to question the long hawk feather that had been attached to the neck of his instrument when he’d pulled it out of its case at the next tavern he’d been willing to play at. He thought maybe one of the dwarves or the warriors accompanying that man - Borch - had given it to him. It hadn’t occurred to him to question it.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You really are an oblivious idiot.” She stood, heading back to the door. “I knew you’d get yourself into trouble sooner or later. It was very surprising you managed to survive this long on your own, though. Without help.” She looked thoughtful for a moment before shrugging. Indicating the tray beside him she said, “Eat. Get dressed. Come down to the receiving room. Bring your lute.” When he sputtered at her in indignation, she turned to pin him with her eyes and he swallowed in spite of himself. “You would be dead on the floor of an uncaring forest right now,” she spoke, her voice low and dangerous. “Don’t forget.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded, all words fled from his mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good. Be quick about it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alone in the room now, Jaskier reassessed his situation. As always, Yennefer hadn’t rescued him out of any sense of genuine concern, but as a means to an end. What end had yet to be seen. Despite the relative warmth of the room, he shivered as he eased himself out of the bed and limped across the floor to his packs. He rifled through them, finding underclothes and a pair of dark green breeches and slipping them on, wincing as they snugged over the bandage on this thigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another pack revealed a chemise of fine linen that he’d been saving. For what, he wasn’t sure, but now seemed as good a time as any. He pulled it over his head, tucking it carefully into the breeches and lacing the front. The matching green doublet went overtop of breeches and chemise, fastened with tarnished silver buttons that had seen better days. Looking around, he found his boots leaning against the wall. They’d obviously been scrubbed and polished until the black leather gleamed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They looked better than when he’d bought them. He would have laughed if the crawling sense of apprehension wasn’t making it harder and harder to breathe with every passing moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Obedient to Yennefer’s wishes, he ate through the food left on the tray - thick stew, grapes, soft bread that nearly melted on his tongue - and drank more water to assuage his still-sore throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shoved his feet into the boots, picked up the lute from where it lay on the table - brushing his fingers over the treacherous gold and red hawk feather - and opened the door. His room opened out into a breezeway made of quarried stone. Arched openings looked down into a garden where a fountain bubbled its quiet tune over river rocks. A spiralling path wound from one side of the garden to the other, circling around carefully tended bushes of roses and daisies, interspersed with gnarled trees whose branches hung like waterfalls to the ground. Calendula and spiky grasses grew together in artfully arranged symmetry. Honeysuckle perfumed the air, and he could see it wrapping its way around the stone columns that held up the breezeway. More flowers than he could name dotted the ground below him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were no people here, though. He made his way down the corridor to his right and through a set of high wooden doors at the end: a banquet hall, long wooden tables lining each side of it, the far wall with one set perpendicular on a raised dais. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He walked as quickly as he could with his injured thigh, wincing as the dressing pulled under his breeches. Through another set of double doors and he came into what he assumed was the receiving room. Here people were milling about, conversation hushed and pointed between tightly knotted groups. A flicker in his vision to his right snapped his head around and there was Yennefer, sitting in a chair to the left of a rather formidable looking woman dressed in silver and red brocade. Yennefer indicated a plump cushion on the floor at her feet and Jaskier grimaced slightly before schooling his face to a bland smile and walking over to arrange himself on it. It was surprisingly firm and comfortable, but his irritation and anxiousness wasn’t lifted as Yennefer patted his head and leaned forward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good little bird. Now, playing something soothing. None of your maudlin ballads or I’ll reopen those wounds,” she murmured quietly into his ear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He inclined his head minutely before turning his attention to his lute, tuning it with nimble fingers. He began to play. At first he listened to what was happening around him. The woman in red and silver was Hestia Loadrin, the head of one of the noble houses in Novigrad, and the people were here to petition her for help. For recompense. For land. For title. For pity. For sympathy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every so often Yennefer would lean over to whisper something in her ear, and she would nod. Decisions were made, for good or ill, but Jaskier didn’t hear them. He bent his ear to his lute instead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Drawing on his considerable repertoire he moved from one piece to the next, twining them around each other and losing himself in the music. It had become his only real sanctuary these days. He blocked out the room, the people, and Yennefer at his back. He thought about how he wanted so desperately to be back at the tavern however many days ago, singing bawdy songs and drinking cheap ale. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally the last of the petitioners left the room and Yennefer touched his arm. His fingers stilled on the strings as he looked up. She nodded towards the noble woman and he scrambled to stand and bow to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hestia regarded him critically for a moment before speaking. “Julian Pancratz,” she intoned, her voice deep and commanding. Jaskier startled backwards so hard he nearly dropped the lute. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Y-yes my Lady Loadrin?” he said hesitantly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She inclined her head to him. “I appreciate you entertaining my guests today. However, I must inform you that your father has been looking for you. It is very fortunate that my mage found you and brought you to me.” Producing a letter from beside her on the table, she handed it to Yennefer. “See that this gets to the Viscount’s messenger and we can negotiate for his son’s safe return.” Jaskier felt his heart in his throat at the calculated look Lady Loadrin turned on him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It suddenly dawned on him that this was the price Yennefer was extolling. He began to feel incredibly queasy at the prospect, even more so than before facing a werewolf by himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yennefer bowed her head at the Lady before grabbing Jaskier’s elbow and using it to steer him out of the room. To his credit, he only stumbled once as he forced his tired and injured legs to keep up with her. She didn’t release him until they were standing outside his room again. By this time he’d decided the best way out of this situation might just be throwing himself out the window of the keep and hoping for the best. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pushed open the door and waved him inside, closing and bolting it behind her. Jaskier placed his lute carefully back on the table before he rounded on her immediately, spreading his arms out in anger and irritation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is your price, is it? Using me as some bargaining chip in a game of highbrow cat and mouse? I’ll have you know I left my family estate in an effort to get away from all this insanity.” He turned away from her, rubbing his hands over his face and speaking more to himself, “I’d honestly rather be locked in a prison than go back there.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you have rather died on the forest floor in some noble attempt at self sacrifice?” Yennefer drawled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He whirled around to face her, wincing at the stab of pain from the wound in his abdomen. “Yes,” he whispered. A tight feeling of satisfaction flared through him at the flicker of surprise that flashed across her eyes. Sighing, he went and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling off his boots and tucking his uninjured leg underneath himself. “I’ve long avoided my father’s reach. And I intend to keep it that way.” His expression hardened as he caught Yennefer’s eye, willing her to understand when he spoke. “I may live for the stories and the intrigue and gallant bravery of others - I may sing their glories and write ballads to their failures - but I will not be used as some pawn to further your clever but most likely insane plot, whatever that may be.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yennefer raised her eyebrow at him and crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you certain you aren’t already?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He frowned. “Already what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Being used as a pawn. Maybe not in my clever but most likely insane plot, but someone else’s?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He snorted. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve been wandering out there in the world on my own, away from all - “ he gestured vaguely around himself “ - this. I’ve hardly had time to insert myself into any court intrigues or the like recently.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her lips twisted up in a sudden smirk. “Yes, I’ve noticed. Bouncing around from village to tiny, insignificant village. You’ve done an excellent job of keeping yourself occupied and unnoticed. Except by certain… parties. The Witchers aren’t particularly fond of you taking work away from them, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier looked startled at that. “Um, what? I’m not - what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She ignored his sputtering and continued. “But someone has been taking advantage of your perceived absence. Causing trouble. Well, more trouble than you normally would anyway.” Pulling out the letter from Lady Loadrin, she held it before her, mumbled a few words and breathed on it slowly. The parchment opened like a flower, the wax seal dropping neatly into her hand. She scanned the contents before handing it to Jaskier.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the wide looping script but as he read through the letter, his eyes widened and he had to read it again to be sure. His eyes snapped up to meet Yennefer’s, clear blue to deep violet. His jaw worked for a moment before he regained the power of speech.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This - this wasn’t me,” he insisted. His fingers trembled where they held the letter, and he looked at it again, trying to process the words. “There’s got to be a mistake. I’ve not been near Cintra in nearly six months! Not since - “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded. “Cirilla’s last name day, I know. I was there too. Oh, don’t give me that look, I was accompanying a client. And don’t give me that look either. The facts are, I know you weren’t there, you know you weren’t there, but several witnesses saw you break into Lord Renard Marquets’ home and kill everyone inside. Somehow you escaped capture by the guards and no one has seen you since. Until I found you, of course.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier looked stricken. “And Lady Loadrin?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s playing the long game. She believed me that it wasn’t actually you. Believed me even more when I brought you back from the woods near Valleyforge bleeding to death. Your father is quite adamant that you be returned to Cintra - to him - for justice. Hestia is going to demand payment - favours, lands, whatever she wants really - in exchange. The negotiation could go on for some time.” Yennefer finally walked over and sat down on the bed next to the bard. “You built yourself a reputation, Jaskier,” she said softly. “Whether you wanted to or not, you’re more than your songs. And someone is taking advantage of that.” She leaned forward, elbows on knees and hands clasped in front of her. “Once companion to the White Wolf, now the bard who hunts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He groaned at that, flopping back onto the bed and covering his face with his hands again. “As much as that appeals to my vanity,” his muffled voice came through his fingers, “this wasn’t my intention.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yennefer poked him in the side with one long finger, causing him to yelp suddenly. “I know, idiot. And contrary to your vanity, this isn’t all about you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He let his hands fall away from his face so he could look up at her, brow furrowed. “So, someone is impersonating me, killing people I know, involving my family, and this is somehow </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> about me?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sighing, she seemed to be resisting the urge to poke him again. “No. But you do make very tempting bait for one very sulky brooding man we both know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Geralt?” he squeaked instantly. His face flushed crimson as she turned and smiled wickedly down at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed. Everyone knows you travelled with him. And there’s been the new stories of your…” her hand twirled in the air, “whatever you want to call it. Stupid bravery? Idiotic gallantry?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All right,” he huffed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The point is, someone is trying to flush Geralt out into the open. And they’re doing it in the most dramatic way possible. He’s not going to be able to resist the implications of you slaughtering a family in their beds.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bard took in a shuddering breath, his eyes squeezing closed against the sudden onslaught of tears. His throat closed as he tried to push down the sobs that threatened to spill forth. Renard had been a good friend. His wife and widowed sister had lived in the modest estate on the edge of Cintra, along with their combined six raven-haired children. If they were all gone now… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All of them?” he asked, voice breaking. He opened his eyes to see Yennefer nodding solemnly. “Fuck,” he said quietly, putting so much feeling into one word it felt like fire and ashes on his tongue. Scrubbing his hand across his eyes, he sighed shakily. “Fine. Okay. What do we do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Find him first,” she said simply. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. To catch a Witcher</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I really appreciate all your kind words. &lt;3 Thanks again.<br/>Please note updated tags. This got a little emotional and also didn't move as far as I wanted but that just means more action in the next chapter, eh? Comments are always welcome &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yennefer explained her plan as she resealed the letter, opening the door to a knock she was apparently expecting and handing it over to a footman. It was simple, really. She’d just stop resisting the pull of the thread that the djinn’s wish had tied between them. When Jaskier voiced skepticism in her plan, she’d shrugged and asked if he had a better idea. Which of course he didn’t - he’d been avoiding any places that had even a whisper of a rumour of the Witcher’s presence for nearly a year now. Honestly, he’d no clue where to even begin to look for the other man. </p><p>“Exactly. But the broody oaf tied us together intentionally. Usually, it simply leads us both in the right direction. I can help it along, and hurry up the process.” </p><p>She’d brought him to her rooms the next day, after he’d rested again, exhausted after only a few hours of playing. </p><p>“Blood loss will do that to you,” Yennefer had supplied helpfully when his eyes had started to droop. He’d scowled at her, but allowed her to redress his wounds before climbing back into the overly-large bed and immediately dropping off into a deep sleep.</p><p>Now he was sprawled across an incredibly comfortable chaise, watching as she ground several herbs together in a mortar. He was fascinated with the process despite himself. Spread out across the table were glass containers of plants and crystals and fluids and some things he couldn't identify. Originally he’d been watching from much closer as she prepared whatever potion she needed. However, after the second time she’d slapped his hand away from picking up one of the jars to more closely examine its contents, she’d banished him to the chaise. He’d grudgingly complied. </p><p>Watching was more fun anyway.</p><p>Yennefer leaned over the table to pluck another handful of bright red berries out of a wooden bowl and sprinkle them into the black cauldron in front of her. She scraped the contents of the mortar in as well, stirring it together with a long branch of blackened hemlock. Satisfied, she lugged the cauldron over to the fire, placing it on the hangar. She filled it with water and swung the creaking metal arm over the cheerfully crackling wood. </p><p>“This has to simmer until nightfall,” she stated, brushing her hands on her long black skirts as she stood. </p><p>“Then what?”</p><p>“Then I pour what’s left into a vial.”</p><p>When she didn’t continue, he huffed out a breath and crossed his arms. “Then what?”</p><p>She turned to look at him, smirking. “Then I rub it into the skin of my hands and under my nose and eyes and ears. I’ll be able to track him just like he does those monsters he hunts.”</p><p>“Huh.” The sound passed his lips unbidden as his brow furrowed in thought. “But how does that relate to the djinn’s spell?”</p><p>“Oh, smart little bird.” Her voice was flat, but she was still smirking. </p><p>He scowled at her, before sighing and rolling his eyes. “Oh, please tell me your plan, wise sorceress! So that I may bask in the light of your eternal know-”</p><p>“Fuck off, Jaskier.” She smacked him in the shoulder, but there was laughter in her eyes. He sat up, making room for her on the chaise. Moving her skirts out of the way, Yennefer carefully settled herself before turning towards the bubbling cauldron. She eyed it for a moment before looking back at the bard. “The potion will enhance my senses, but I’ve added a few things to wrap it around the bond that’s already there. So it won’t let me pinpoint exactly which of Lady Loadrin’s maids you sleep with - your indignation is wasted on me - but if Geralt had, say, brushed against you in the last three days, I’d be able to smell that. If he is breathing in the surrounding mile of me, I’ll hear him. And I’ll see him in the pitch dark of night or in the middle of a crowd.”</p><p>Jaskier had stilled next to her as she spoke, wonder and horror warring for room on his face. The silence stretched out for long enough to be barely comfortable. He swallowed thickly. “That is truly terrifying,” he managed eventually. She quirked an eyebrow at him. He ducked his head, clearing his throat forcefully. “Um. How lon will it last?”</p><p>She hummed thoughtfully. “A week, at the outside. I hope that will give us enough time to find him.”</p><p>“Do you know where to start looking?” </p><p>“That’s where the hands come in.” She wiggled her fingers at him, grinning. He batted her hands away from his face, and she withdrew, laughing again. “Because of the djinn, I always know vaguely where he is, if I concentrate. Now I’ll be able to touch a map and pinpoint it much more accurately. Then I can make us a portal, and we can go get him.”</p><p>His eyes snapped back up to meet hers. “We?” he squeaked, before grimacing and trying again. “What do you mean we? Why do I have to go?”</p><p>“You’re the bait. Don’t you remember? Your doppelganger wants to flush him out into the open. We have to show him it wasn’t actually you, otherwise he’s going to hunt you down.” She tilted her head to the side, much like a cat regarding a particularly curious toy. “Surely you must have figured that out. He’ll have some sense of obligation. Probably thinks your time with him drove you to do it or someone has ensorcelled you, or something else equally as dramatic.” She tapped her chin with one perfect nail as she considered him. “He probably knows about what you were doing, helping hunt creatures and such along the way. He might think it has to do with that too.”</p><p>Jaskier was silent again. He honestly hadn’t thought that agreeing to help those in need in the villages he’d been travelling through meant that much in the long run. He’d just done what needed to be done, helped where he could; it wasn’t like he had a choice, he kept reminding himself. Who else would - who else could - help?</p><p>Another smack to his shoulder brought him out of his reverie. Startled, he glanced up. The sorceress was studying him thoughtfully, leaning against the sweeping back of the chaise. “You know, he went back to find you. On the mountain,” she said quietly. </p><p>It was like being doused in cold water and then immediately lit on fire: the shock of realization and then the spark of anger. A well opened up in his chest, sucking all his breath with it, only to be replaced by a roiling sensation that had bile seeping into his throat. He launched himself up off the chaise, startling Yennefer, and ignoring the sharp stab of pain through his leg and stomach as his still-healing wounds protested against the sudden movement. He stalked back and forth in a tight line. His teeth gritted. His heart beat too fast. His hands fluttered like moths from the front of his soft grey doublet out to his sides, never landing anywhere for more than a second. </p><p>His own reaction scared him. How could he still feel so strongly? </p><p>He was aware of Yennefer watching him, though she made no move to help or hinder. Finally the rippling sensations under his skin settled enough for him to face her, hands on hips and staring back into her unflinching violet eyes. </p><p>“Why?” The simple question held a million flavours of hurt and anger, and he hoped she could taste them all.</p><p>She watched him a moment longer before looking away, jaw tightening. Jaskier stepped back in surprise. Was that genuine emotion she was displaying to him? Could she be as vulnerable as he? </p><p>“Because Geralt of Rivia, the great White Wolf, is an idiot wrapped up in the dressings of man who believes everything he does is right,” she said and the words sounded exasperated, like she’d said them many times before. Her eyes came back to rest on him. “He knows he took his anger out on the wrong person. But he also believes that pushing you away avoided having to face consequences later.”</p><p>“I don’t - I don’t understan -” Jaskier faltered, suddenly at a loss for words. His anger was fading, like embers banked in a fire. If Geralt had come back, and had found him there, what would he have said? Would he have apologized for his outburst? “You’re making it sound like he would have made it worse.”</p><p>She snorted at that. “Probably.”</p><p>“Wait. How do you know he went back?”</p><p>“He told me.”</p><p>“What!” he sputtered, stepping back from her, nearly tripping over his own feet. “Did you two kiss and make up?” The sarcasm laid thick on his tongue but one look at her self-righteous smirk had him reeling backwards again, throwing his hands in the air. “Oh, fuck! Of course! How stupid of me to think he wouldn’t seek you out immediately.” His hands dropped to his sides as his mind tried to catch up with his overwrought emotions. He turned and sat down heavily on the chaise. </p><p>Why was this affecting him so deeply? Why did it matter to him that Geralt had found the sorceress and made amends? Why did it matter that he hadn’t sought him out to do the same?</p><p>Why did it feel like his heart was going to beat its way out of his chest?</p><p>“Jaskier!” Yennefer’s voice was in his ear, but sounded very far away. “Fuck. Breathe, Jaskier!” He felt her hands on his back, pushing his head down. Every gulp of air felt like torture, like his lungs couldn’t get enough. He was vaguely aware she was kneeling in front of him now, her hands on his cheek and forehead felt ice cold and the sensation seemed to seep under his skin as he closed his eyes, concentrating hard on drawing air in through his nose, out through his mouth, like he’d had to do many times before. The rhythm helped focus him.</p><p>After a few moments, his heart beat calmed to a more reasonable level and he opened his eyes. Yennefer was sitting in front of him, watching solemnly as he sat back up. Embarrassment tinged his cheeks red as he looked everywhere but at her. There was no sound but the fire burning merrily in the hearth for long, slow minutes. </p><p>Finally, Yennefer stood back up. She went and stirred the cauldron before coming to sit back beside him. When she touched his arm, his whole body jumped, and he blew out a breath in annoyance. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice small and tired sounding even in his own ears. “I don’t know why I reacted like that.”</p><p>He could feel her eyes on him, judging him - he was sure - before she spoke. “I think there are a lot of obvious reasons, but I do have a question.” He looked over at her then, brow furrowed. “When did you start having these attacks?”</p><p>He barked a laugh. “That obvious, hmm?” Sighing, he tried to draw both his legs up under his chin and winced as the bandages shifted painfully. Instead he flopped back on the chaise, propping his head up on one hand and staring at the ceiling. “Not long after the first time I was asked to help kill some monster for a scared village. I’d have these nightmares and wake up, unable to breathe, like there was a dead weight on my chest.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I figured out a way to deal with it.” His nonchalance was all fake, he knew, but it felt better than admitting that it terrified him every time it happened. </p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yennefer purse her lips. “Do you want something for the nightmares?” she asked quietly.</p><p>Jaskier suddenly felt too open, too revealed. He put a hand to his chest and stared at her in mock shock. “Is the mighty Yennefer of Vengerberg offering to help someone in need? Is this the same person who, not a day ago was threatening me with bodily harm if I didn’t do exactly as she said?”</p><p>Her lips twitched in a smile as she stood up again, heading back to her workbench. “I only offer because you’re no use exhausted and twitchy if I’m to use you as bait in this endeavour.” She sorted through a few vials before finding one with a bright red liquid inside. She handed it to him and he took it from her gingerly, like it might explode. “It’s not going to hurt you. Two drops in a cup of water - or wine, I know how you are - before you sleep and it should stop any unwanted dreams.” </p><p>Jaskier looked at the vial thoughtfully, sloshing the liquid around as he examined it. “What about the wanted ones?” </p><p>She rolled her eyes. “It’s not selective. You’ll have a dreamless sleep.” </p><p>“Hmmm. What if I take more than two drops?”</p><p>“Then you’ll be dead.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The rest of the day passed in relative ease. Yennefer took the bard with her back to the receiving room to play again for the Lady Loadrin’s petitioners for the afternoon. There were a few curious stares in his direction, but he avoided looking up at anyone lest they recognize him. Whether that was from the doppleganger’s activities or his own proclivities, he didn’t want to draw attention. </p><p>Once the long shadows of evening started pulling every corner into soft relief, Yennefer took the cauldron off the fire and let it cool before very carefully pouring the contents into another wooden bowl. She waited for the solids to settle before skimming the liquid off the top and stoppering it in a glass vial. </p><p>Jaskier watched all this from his place back on the chaise. He was lazily strumming his lute, picking out short melodies and humming along in counterpoint. Keeping his hands busy soothed his nerves. He’d brought all his detailed maps with him to her rooms, hopeful that they might be of some help once Yennefer began the spell. Once it was cleared of most of her ingredients, they were piled onto the large work table along with her own. He kept playing as she spread out a couple, using various jars and instruments to hold down the rolling edges. </p><p>“I know he’s somewhere in the North right now. He’s been steadily making his way closer to Cintra though, so we can assume he’s heard about your little indiscretion.” Yennefer traced the border of Redania on her map. “If we can find him before he gets to Rinde, that would be ideal.”</p><p>Jaskier nodded along with her, still playing slowly. She unstoppered the bottle and the scent of holly berries and juniper filled the air. He frowned. Even bubbling over the hearth, the potion hadn’t smelled like much. Now the perfume of it seemed strong and vibrant. Yennefer tipped the bottle, spreading the nearly colourless liquid over her fingers before rubbing it under her nose. She repeated the process with her eyes and ears before upending the rest on her hands and rubbing it in like she would one of her expensive creams. He continued to watch, fascinated, as she held her hands out over the map, whispering words that tickled against his ears and seemed to spark against her lips. Where she’d applied the liquid, her skin glowed a dull, sullen red for a moment before fading back to nothing. Her hands came down to hover over the map, tracing in the air above before stopping suddenly. She stared at it for a moment before turning to dig through the other pile of maps, pulling a more detailed one out and laying it over the first. She twitched her fingers over this one as well before laying them down over a particular spot. </p><p>Breathing out a huff of air in amusement, she turned to look over her shoulder at Jaskier. She smiled wickedly at him and he stopped playing. </p><p>“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, pinpricks of apprehension dancing over his skin.</p><p>“Because, my dear bard, our Witcher is in Valleyforge. He’s following you.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Kill me with kindness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank-you for your patience. I had to fine tune this one to lay with the next chapter just right. Your comments and kudos and general loveliness are really keeping me going these days. Thank-you.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier just blinked at her for a moment. “Following me? How could he know I was in Valleyforge? It’s not like I advertised.”</p><p>Yennefer started rolling up the map along with several others, stuffing them into the waterproof case he’d brought. “You might as well have. You can’t expect to play those ballads, and hunt something like a werewolf, and then not get noticed by a Witcher.” She turned, nodding to him as she went to the foot of her bed, stuffing the map cases inside. “Get your things, we’re going.”</p><p>“What? Now?” he sputtered, standing up quickly and shrugging off the strap of his lute. “You want to go now?”</p><p>“Yes,” she said simply, already hauling her small pack onto her shoulder. She glared at him. “Go get your things. I’ll meet you in the stables. Hurry up. There’s no telling if he’ll stay in one place too long, and if I’ve already found him, who knows if your twin has found him as well.”</p><p>Jaskier stared at her in horror for another moment before straightening his shoulders and grabbing the neck of his lute. “Right. Um, yes.” He turned and marched out of her room, striding as quickly as he could back to his own. Thinking quickly, he stripped down to his skin and redressed in another set of plain black breeches and tunic, strapping his leather armor on over top. He paused for a moment before nodding to himself and buckling on the silver shortsword and daggers. No sense in not being prepared. He wrapped his lute back into its case. Satisfied, and with a bit of pained grunting, he hauled his packs over his shoulders and headed down to the stable yard. </p><p>Yennefer had brought Thorn with her when she’d rescued him from bleeding to death, and she seemed happy to see him as he entered her stall. She shoved her face into his chest nearly knocking him off balance. He grinned, rubbing the spot between her ears for a moment before going to find her tack and setting about getting her ready. When he was finished tying on the last of his packs, he led her out into the stable yard where Yennefer was already waiting for him. She was seated atop a black gelding with a white blaze. Her matching black riding leathers creaked as she adjusted her seat. At her nod, he wrapped a length of cloth around Thorn’s eyes, knotting it under her jaw. He held her reins close to her chin. He could sense her discomfort in the stiff line of her back and the flattening of her ears and he murmured to her softly, trying to ease her worry.</p><p>Yennefer narrowed her eyes at him for a moment before drawing herself up and swirling an arm in front, sketching out a large circle. A breeze twisted up from the cobbles, carrying with it bits of straw and grass, scouring fine sand up into a vortex. It expanded slowly to hover in front of them and Yennefer glanced over at Jaskier, her face carefully blank, though he could see the lines of strain around her mouth. He pulled on Thorn’s reins, urging her quickly through the portal and out the other side. His stomach roiled at the sensation of moving from one place to another but he pushed the feeling down ruthlessly, leading Thorn away from the swirling tunnel so Yennefer could urge her mount through right behind him. </p><p>He removed Thorn’s blindfold and rubbed his hand along her trembling neck, shushing her quietly, not sure if it was more for her benefit or his. He’d been through portals maybe three times in his life, and he didn’t think he’d ever really get used to the tickling, itchy sensation of magic that washed over his skin when he stepped through. His teeth clenched against the bile rising in his throat and he shivered, once, before forcing himself to relax. </p><p>Jaskier turned to see Yennefer watching him. Her violet eyes seemed to reach below his skin, and he looked up at her for a moment before shoving his foot into the stirrup of the sturdy saddle and swinging his leg up and over. The movement had become practiced, precise. It came naturally to him now after long months on the road. He was almost surprised at that, now, thinking back ruefully on the handful of times Geralt had allowed him to perch on the pinion behind him so they could make quicker time on Roach to the next town. Or away from sudden danger. He hadn’t been nearly so graceful then.</p><p>The forest around them didn’t look familiar. Had he expected it to? He frowned as he glanced around. “Where are we, exactly?” he asked, his nervousness causing Thorn to shift and paw at the ground beneath him. He patted her neck, again trying to relax. It wasn’t coming easy. </p><p>“Close. Stay here. I’m going to go into town.” When he opened his mouth to protest, she pinned him with those unfathomable eyes. “You will do as you’re told, Jaskier. I’m not asking. I’m not Geralt, who you think you can just follow blithely after as you please.” She tapped her heels into the gelding’s side, maneuvering him closer to Jaskier. “You have no idea how he’ll react. He may kill you on sight, before you have a chance to lay on that silver tongue of yours. If I’m to use you as bait, I have to know if he’s here first and if not, set a plan to lure him back.” Her hand flicked out, quick as lightning, grabbing his chin in an iron-hard grip, forcing him to look at her. There was a fierce light in those eyes, and it glowed dangerously as her nails dug into his skin. They stared at each other for several long moments that way. He swallowed reflexively, but held her gaze, determined not to back down. “Do you understand?” she asked at last, releasing him. </p><p>He nodded slowly. “How long do you want me to wait?” he asked, voice soft. </p><p>She consider a moment before she pointed to a game trail that led off into the woods just off the road they stood on. “From your maps, that trail heads deeper into the woods. Get at least an hour in and make camp. Once I know if he’s here or not, I’ll come find you.” Looking him over, her eyes landed on the blades strapped to his waist and thighs. One eyebrow arched slightly. “I’d ask if you know how to use those, but we both know the answer,” she said, her tone rueful. </p><p>That seemed to break through the tension somewhat and he grinned back at her before nodding again. “You could say that,” he drawled. He winked as he took up Thorn’s reins again, pivoting her around to find the game trail and heading out into the woods. “Though I have a better one that doesn’t get near as much attention.” His grin grew wider as he heard Yennefer let out a startled laugh before the dense forest closed around him, damping any sound. </p><p> </p><p>**</p><p> </p><p>The ride through the forest was quiet. Peaceful. Calm. The evening shadows grew thicker and at one point he had to dismount and start leading Thorn on foot, careful of the uneven ground and the reaching limbs of trees. He walked until the sun had completely set, and then stumbled through the woods as best he could. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but even the light of the rising moon didn’t penetrate all the way down to the forest floor. Everything stood in hazy relief, looming out of the shadows of the surrounding forest as he approached it. The air grew steadily colder and he shivered as it settled against his skin. </p><p>Another few bends in the slim trail and it opened up into a small clearing. He could hear water trickling over rocks off to his left, so he skirted to the right, along the edge until he found a relatively flat place to set up camp. Working quickly and with practiced ease, he cleared a patch of grass down to bare earth. Poking in amongst the debris on the forest floor, he came up with enough hand-sized rocks to form a rough circle on the bare patch of ground, filled it with tinder and struck his flint over it. Hunching down, he started blowing to get it started before throwing on a few likely-looking fallen branches. The fire hissed and spit, water sizzling from the damp wood. Satisfied that it would keep going - for a short time at least - he unsaddled Thorn and tethered her, leaving enough room for her to forage at the sparse undergrowth. </p><p>He set up the rest of his camp and then sat himself by the fire to wait. The forest was quiet except for the sound of the fire and the usual night creatures. He could hear crickets and frogs, the skittering of small furry things, and the long mournful hoot of an owl. This was the kind of thing he’d gotten used to. The near silence of being alone. </p><p>The night moved on. The moon passed silently overhead. Eventually, Jaskier slept. </p><p> </p><p>**</p><p> </p><p>He dreamed.</p><p>They were being chased. Something big crashed through the woods behind them. Jaskier knew his stamina wasn’t enough to outrun whatever it was. His lungs were already burning as he heaved in air. His heart beat staccato against his chest. Looking to his left he could see Geralt running too, teeth clenched tight in a grimace. He was pulling ahead a bit, and Jaskier knew with sudden clarity that if he didn’t do something right now, he was going to die. </p><p>His throat felt like knives as he inhaled and then veered sharply to the right, screaming as loudly as he could. He could sense the beast following him, gaining quickly as it turned with him.</p><p>Turned away from Geralt. </p><p>He clamped his mouth shut and forced his legs to move faster, dodging between the trees as best he could. It was a losing battle. While he had to move out of the way of the thick trunks, the beast merely plowed through them. And despite his best efforts, he was steadily slowing. Everything in his body was protesting against the abuse. Everything burned or hurt or ached. He gulped more air and chanced a glance behind him. </p><p>Red, red eyes loomed out of the half-light of the woods, nearly upon him now. He gritted his teeth harder, turning his head back to the path - and promptly ran into a low-hanging branch. </p><p>It caught him at chest height and knocked him to the ground. Black edged his vision and suddenly he couldn’t draw a breath. Something like a sob ripped from his mouth and he squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to see his impending doom. Instead, he could hear it, feel it in the earth as it trampled everything in its path to get to him. </p><p>Then another scream rent the air. Pain and anger, so high-pitched it left his ears buzzing. He scrambled back to his feet, ducking under the branch and looking behind him. The huge beast - he’d have to ask Geralt what it was actually called later, some rational part of his brain noted - was splayed out, on its side, unmoving. Geralt was picking himself up off the ground, shaking his head a bit like he’d been stunned too. Calmly, he walked over and wrenched his sword out of the beast’s back with a grunt of effort. </p><p>Jaskier watched all this with a dazed sort of look on his face. He wandered over as Geralt cleaned his blade on the beast’s fur and sheathed it on his back. Only then did he look at the bard and Jaskier almost stumbled backwards in shock. Was that fear? Did Witchers feel fear? Just as he started to ask, Geralt marched towards him, teeth clenched and eyes hard with fury. This was something Jaskier was much more used to. </p><p>“What were you thinking? It could have killed you! You absolute fool!” He grabbed the front of Jaskier’s doublet, wrenching the bard up until he was directly in his face. “What the fuck were you thinking?” His voice was deadly calm now, like he expected an answer. </p><p>“I was thinking,” he said, voice calm and level, though still hoarse and rough from the extended running and screaming. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I was thinking, a diversionary tactic might be best. It could only focus on one of us at a time, and with its back to you, you had a better chance of, uh, stabbing it. Repeatedly.” He put his hands on top of Geralt’s where they still dug into his doublet and pushed, gentle but insistent. Geralt immediately released him, and he stepped back quickly, out of the other’s range. “It, um, it worked out alright, didn’t it?” he asked, suddenly grinning madly as he walked over to the corpse, hands on hips. “This will absolutely make an amazing story.” He tapped his lip thoughtfully. “I might leave out the screaming though.” He glanced back at Geralt, who was still staring at him, an absolutely unreadable expression on his face. “What do you think?” </p><p>Geralt let out a long breath, rubbing his hands over his thighs before frowning back at him. “Hmmm,” was the Witcher’s response. “Best to leave out the screaming.”</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p> </p><p>Thorn woke him. She was trying to eat his hair. He batted her away with one hand before groaning and sitting up straighter. He’d fallen asleep propped up against his pack and bedroll, and now had a terrible crick in his neck. </p><p>“Hello dear,” he mumbled, as she came back and nibbled at his palms, hoping for a treat. “Did you untie yourself again?”</p><p>“No, that was me. We need to go.” Blearily he looked up to see Yennefer crouched down beside him. He flinched involuntarily at how close she was before rubbing his eyes and yawning. </p><p>“Ya alright.” It was only then he realized the pale gold and red colours of the sky above him. “Bollocks. Is it morning? Were you gone all night?” He staggered to his feet, stretching the kinks from his arms and legs before gathering his things and re-tacking Thorn. </p><p>Yennefer hummed non-commitely. Once he was finished cinching the last of his packs, she grabbed the reins of her own horse and led the way across the clearing, following the game trail on the other side, Jaskier hurrying to follow. </p><p>“Hey! Are you not going to tell me what happened?”</p><p>“No,” she said simply. Then she sighed. “Yes. Eventually. Suffice to say, he wasn’t there. But he had been there. I’ve sent him a message, but we need to make it back to the village before he does.” They broke through the trees onto a larger part of the trail and Yennefer took the opportunity to mount up. Jaskier scrambled to follow, still confused as to what her plan was. </p><p>They rode through the trees in silence for what seemed like ages before the game trail crossed the main road into the village. Yennefer stopped them there, seeming to listen intently before moving forward. The village was quiet this early in the morning. Only  a few people were out in the streets, and they didn’t glance up at the pair as they rode along the outskirts. Jaskier was just about to ask where they were going when Yennefer turned down a shorter road, leading them through the gate of a large, round cottage. </p><p>“Um, I hate to ask, but whose house is this?” Jaskier's tone was laden with suspicion as he dismounted, following Yennefer into the tiny stable. A young boy appeared out of nowhere and took Thorn’s reins from him, smiling brightly before bowing to Yennefer. </p><p>She handed the reins of her horse to him as well, smiling back. “Thank-you Thomas. Give this to your mother.” She produced a ducat from the purse at her side and the boy bobbed again, taking the coin and leading the horses away. </p><p>“Um?" Jaskier started again.</p><p>Yennefer shook her head. “It’s taken care of. I’m renting this cottage.” At his snort of disbelief, she turned and smacked his chest. “I am. We needed a place to hide.”</p><p>“Hide?” he asked. Apparently he was one-word questioning things today.</p><p>She nodded. “You need to not be seen by anyone in Cintra - or close to Cintra - I need to have a place away from Novigrad in case things… happen. And once we get Geralt, we need a place to plan.” </p><p>The thought that he was going to actually, in the very near future, see the Witcher again, made him feel suddenly ill at ease. Of course that had been the plan from the beginning, but now that it was becoming a reality, it made everything in his chest tighten and set his teeth on edge. Despite what Yennefer had told him, some part of him still refused to believe that the other man didn’t mean every word he’d said to him before, on the side of that mountain. Now he was going to have to face the reality of seeing him again, and every part of him wanted to flee. </p><p>Instead, he followed Yennefer as she walked across the yard and into the cottage.</p><p>The cottage was huge. Jaskier was a bit overwhelmed by the size of it, even though he’d just been staying in a keep in the city. It sprawled across the property, a large kitchen and sitting area at the back where it opened to the stables and gardens, and another room at the front with a huge fireplace and sturdy wooden furniture draped in worn woven and knitted blankets. It had a homey feel to it, though the empty hearth and cold air said it hadn’t been lived in for a while. Two bedrooms on the main floor had fresh straw tick mattresses and clean linen sheets. A spiralling wooden staircase led to another bedroom at the top of the house. It was a bit more cramped, as the peaked thatched roof sloped down, leaving little room for anything aside from the bed. </p><p>The real luxury was the copper tub set into the floor in one tiny room behind the staircase with a water pump at one end that drew from the well in the back garden. Jaskier suddenly decided he liked the cottage very much.</p><p>“How long do we have before he gets your message?” he asked as he idly ran his hands over the care-worn furniture. </p><p>“Not long.” She shrugged. He could see she was fiddling with something, her back to him where she stood in the middle of the kitchen. “There are a few things that need to be done first, however.” </p><p>“Oh? Like what?” He moved towards her, curious as to what she was doing.</p><p>“Like this.” She turned to him then. Her hands came up and her lips pursed and for one ridiculous second he thought she was going to kiss him. Then something that felt like sand hit his face and he inhaled reflexively. That was definitely the wrong thing to do, he decided, as all feeling immediately went out of his face and hands. </p><p>Very slowly, he crumpled to his knees on the stone floor. He didn’t even register how cold the stones were, although a tiny part of him knew they should be. He tried in vain to will his mouth to speak, to ask her what she’d done, but his lips refused to move. When he looked at her, the grim set to her lips suddenly made him very sad. It made him wonder if maybe he deserved this. Maybe - his overactive, crazily firing brain told him - maybe he had actually killed those people, his friends.</p><p>Because he remembered what Yennefer had done to Geralt the first time they met. How she’d used her magic to make him do her bidding and humiliate the townsfolk. Had someone done the same to him? He slumped to the side, his cheek now resting on the cold-but-not-cold flagstones, and he watched Yennefer’s booted feet move closer to him before his eyelids grew too heavy to keep open. </p><p> </p><p>**</p><p> </p><p>Wakefulness came in stages. It softly pressed against his temples. It dusted against his fingertips. It dragged slowly through his thoughts before opening his eyes. Nothing seemed amiss, at first. The pillow under his head was firm and warm. The sunlight that poured through the window and touched him heated his skin in a pleasant but prickly way. However, when he went to stretch and move out of the sun, the ropes that bound him, hand and foot, prevented him from shifting more than a few inches. </p><p>Panic came in stages. It shot through him in a blaze. It clawed at his throat. It stabbed at his heart. He breathed through his nose quickly. There was a gag covering his mouth, preventing him from speaking or breathing that way. He willed himself still and tried to assess his situation. </p><p>He was definitely still in the cottage. But he was also definitely trussed up like some kind of present. Why? To what purpose? </p><p>Heavy bootfalls echoed outside of the door, coming closer. At least he’d know his fate soon enough. The door swung open, revealing Yennefer first. A brief flash of some emotion flitted across her eyes, but then she was looking down at him with that hard expression he knew so well. The one of not quite contempt, because he wasn’t worthy of even that. He glared back at her as best he could from his prone position on the bed. </p><p>“As I promised. I found him for you. Now will you start believing me?” She addressed someone behind her. There was a grunt, and then she moved to the foot of the bed, out of the new intruder’s way.</p><p>Geralt stood, framed in the doorway, his expression storm clouded and dark. He looked almost the same as the last time Jaskier had seen him. The black studded armour had more repairs now, and his hair was caught up higher on his head than he’d seen before. But the signature swords still hung strapped across his back, and when he spoke, the deep timbre of his voice still felt like it came from the bottom of a well.</p><p>“Hmmm. Fuck,” he said, eloquently. His brow furrowed, like he was considering many possibilities before he sighed, closing his eyes. “I don’t know if I can trust you, Yenn. What if this is all a trick? Or another trick? How do you know he’s the doppelganger and not the other one?” </p><p>Jaskier’s entire body went cold: they thought he was the fake. How could they think that? He turned to look back at Yennefer, his eyes wide, pleading. She looked away immediately, her eyes on Geralt instead, but not before he saw the tiny shake of her head. </p><p>“Not doppelganger. That would be too easy. More like a changeling. Nearly the same in every way that counts.” She glanced back down at him briefly before steadfastly returning her gaze to Geralt. “There is a way though, but you’re not going to like it.” </p><p>Geralt huffed a humourless laugh. “How did I know you were going to say that?” His expression turned to one of resignation, shoulders slumping. “Go on then.”</p><p>“You have to stab him in the heart. With iron.”</p><p>It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Both Geralt and Jaskier (as much as he could) turned to look at her. Her expression was hard as she spoke. “It’s old magic - unpredictable in some ways, but easy to destroy in others. If he’s the copy, he’ll die, turn to ash and be gone. If he’s not, the copy dies.”</p><p>“Yenn.” How Geralt managed to put so much feeling into one word, Jaskier had no idea. Not in all the time he’d known him had he sounded so hurt and broken. “He’ll die either way.” </p><p>Yennefer shook her head, a quick jerking motion. Jaskier could see she was trembling, just slightly, her hands balled into fists. Her voice, however, brooked no argument. “No. I won’t let it happen. If he’s our bard, I won’t let him die.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Like an arrow, straight and true</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank-you for all your kind words and kudos! I do try to answer all of them &lt;3</p>
<p>Reminder: It has to get worse before it gets better.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>Our bard. </p>
<p>The words sent a shock through Jaskier as he lay on the bed. <em> Our bard </em> . What did she mean by that? <em> Our bard </em>. Like he mattered to her. To both of them. He lay very still as he watched them, unsure of what they were going to do next. Now that he knew their plan, should he try to escape? He didn’t want to die, but if it meant the other Jaskier died, wouldn’t that be a good thing? Didn’t Renard and his family deserve justice? Even if it killed him, too?</p>
<p>Or what if the other thing was right - what if he was somehow the copy? Or had been bewitched into doing those things? Maybe his last thought as he had crumpled to the floor in the cottage kitchen was right. </p>
<p>Barely contained thoughts swirled with doubt through his head, making him nearly vibrate with the need to do something. Usually at a time like this he’d be pacing, ranting, trying to understand and get all the words out of his head so they stopped crowding together and smothering him. One thought kept popping to the surface, though, over and over again.</p>
<p><em> Our bard </em>. </p>
<p>They left him then, closing the door behind them. He could hear them talking, but not the words. He tried shifting his shoulders, the pressure starting to make them twitch in protest. The rope that wrapped around his wrists and ankles was connected so that if he pulled his hands up to relieve the strain on his back, his feet were forced up and back as well. A very compromising situation if he thought about it. The gag was also a problem. It consisted of a length of rope that had been forced between his teeth and secured behind his head. The bottom half of his face was covered by a piece of cloth, also knotted behind his head. Which was good, because the rope made it hard to swallow and so was already nearly soaked through with his own saliva. A thin trail of drool was starting to leak out of the corner of his mouth, only to be caught by the soft cloth. His brow furrowed in annoyance. </p>
<p>Closing his eyes, he exhaled slowly and twitched his fingers, trying to figure out the knots of the rope. It was a soft, braided thing. Durable, but worn. If he could just get the tips of his fingers between the edges of it, he might be able to force the knot apart. He breathed in and out slowly, concentrating. Curling his hands and pressing with the tips of his fingers, he wiggled them back and forth, feeling the rope starting to give slightly. Working slowly, he managed to get his fingers wrapped around the rope. He slipped one coil of it over his wrists and felt the tension lift slightly. </p>
<p>His elation was extremely short-lived. The door opened suddenly, and without warning Yennefer was striding back into the room. He froze, only his eyes moving to follow her. Clutched in her hands were several bottles and various tapered candles, all of which she dumped on the small dresser at the foot of the bed. Slowly, she arranged them to her liking, before turning and jamming the candlesticks in various holders around the room, lighting them as she went. She steadfastly refused to look at him and left again as quickly as she’d come in. </p>
<p>He huffed a breath - or at least tried to. The rope was biting rather unpleasantly into the tender skin at the sides of his mouth. He focused on the light of the candles as they flickered in their holders as he moved his hands, trying to work the coils apart a little more and get his hands further apart. The soft light captured his attention and drew him in.</p>
<p>It made him feel like he was free falling. The panic still clawed its way in his throat and his breathing became more shallow, darkness edged his vision. He needed to get out of there. The panic was becoming overwhelming and he couldn’t stand being at its mercy. It was just like being on the mountain, he realized. Two incredibly powerful beings each believing they had the answer. He was just a bard. Some clumsy mortal whose entire life was like a blink of the eye to them. Hot tears of anger and frustration pricked his eyes and he squeezed them closed. Fuck this. Yennefer had tricked him. Geralt hadn’t even spoken directly to him. Again he was just an inconvenience. </p>
<p>Our bard. <em> That meant nothing, </em> something in his head whispered at him. <em> She was only saying it to placate Geralt. </em></p>
<p>His eyes snapped open. Yennefer sat beside him, her hand gently placed on his brow. He inhaled sharply and thrashed against his bindings, a raw scream of anger clawing out of his throat only to be muffled by the gag. She made a small sound of frustration before standing up and going over to the dresser.</p>
<p>The room was darker now. The lit candles had burned down substantially in their holders around the room. And to his shock, Geralt was seated in the chair beside him. He’d shed most of his armour and his legs were stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed, and arms crossed over his chest, like he’d been sitting there for some time. He was watching Jaskier. </p>
<p>Defiant, Jaskier met his eyes. They were shockingly bright in the light of the candles, slit-pupiled, gold coloured, and he felt that all too familiar urge to just fall into them. Instead, he glared back and was surprised that the other was the first to look away. </p>
<p>“Geralt,” Yennefer said, almost gently, and the Witcher’s attention instantly snapped up to regard her. “Needs must.” </p>
<p>He nodded and huffed out a breath, readjusting his crossed arms. Grunting in frustration, he pulled his legs back underneath himself, dropping his hands to clasp themselves between his knees. He hunched over himself, every line radiating tension and misery. </p>
<p>Misery? Jaskier was taken aback at recognizing the emotion in the usually stoic man. </p>
<p>“Jaskier,” he grated out, looking over at his bound figure, but refusing to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have driven you away. It was - “ he paused. His eyes closed. “I was wrong.” The words were soft and his shoulders slumped. </p>
<p>Jaskier had to look away as his eyes filled with tears. Whether they were from anger, or frustration or relief he couldn’t rightly say, but he squeezed them shut again, trying to drive the feeling back down. He couldn’t let it overwhelm him again. </p>
<p>Suddenly his chin was yanked up, nails digging sharply into his skin through the cloth, and his eyes flashed open to see Yennefer staring down at him. “No!” she said harshly. </p>
<p>His chest was heaving now as he tried to draw in air through too small a portal. Panic and anger were swirling up through his stomach, constricting his throat and narrowing his vision. Vaguely he was aware of both of them standing over him now. Yennefer yelled something but he couldn’t hear it through the ringing in his ears. He felt the bindings on his hands go slack and then he was being pushed onto his back. </p>
<p>Geralt towered over him, the light flashing off of something in his hands. One of his hands wrapped itself around Jaskier’s right shoulder, and the other came down in a blur. Pain blossomed through his chest.</p>
<p>Jaskier screamed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This dream was different. For one, he absolutely knew he wasn’t dreaming. </p>
<p>The ground under his bare feet was obsidian. It stretched away from him in every direction and when he looked down, he could see his reflection. It was like standing on a mirror and looking down at himself. </p>
<p>The reflection smirked up at him and he stumbled backwards. It came with him, striding gracefully to keep pace. Once he’d regained his footing, he looked at it more closely. It was almost exactly like him in every way. Mop of chestnut locks, strong jaw, muscular but lithe figure. Everything the same. Except the eyes. Where Jaskier’s eyes were bright and blue, his reflection’s were dark and green. And the smile. Jaskier was quite certain his smile - even in his most angry and vindictive moments - had never been that cruel. </p>
<p>As he stared down in shock, the reflection tilted back its head and laughed. And he could <em> hear </em> it: like a distorted note played underwater. When it looked back at him, it beckoned him closer and he felt his legs weaken, his knees buckling, until he was on all fours over top of his reflection. And it grinned at him again and reached out and <em> through </em> the obsidian, grabbing his wrist. </p>
<p>He didn’t even have time to call out. It felt like something was tearing at his skin, digging into his flesh and ripping it away. Bright, hot pain scoured away every other thought in his head as that feeling of being pulled, dragged, through a ring made up of jagged shards of glass swept over him. It was over almost as soon as it begun and he was still on his hands and knees, eyes tightly closed, panting for air. His skin still felt raw, like it had been burned away and then replaced, and he was shivering with shock.</p>
<p>When he could finally open his eyes, he noticed that the light was suddenly dimmer. Colder. The obsidian underneath him had a thin veneer of frost on it. He looked through it to see his reflection again and it was stretching up, back arching and fingers splayed, like it was reveling in the sensation of movement. </p>
<p>Jaskier suddenly realized he was on the other side of that obsidian barrier. He had traded places with his reflection. </p>
<p>He pounded his fists against the ice-covered blackness, screaming. But no sound came out of his lungs. His reflection laughed and this time it was his own voice he heard, not the distorted sound from before. Then it crouched down and spoke.</p>
<p>“Looks like your friends took the bait, my dear bard. I wasn’t certain I could outsmart the great Yennefer of Vengerburg, but it seems I have. She has a soft spot when it comes to you.” The reflection clicked its tongue in disapproval. “Should never let yourself become attached. Such folly.” It stood up and tilted its head as if listening. “Hmmm, can you hear that? She’s healing your poor little heart now. She thinks your double has died and that you will be healed and everything is as it should be.” Its lips twisted into that cruel smile again. “But you and I know different. And now I can finally be rid of her and the great Geralt of Rivia. My master will be so please.”</p>
<p>Jaskier started shivering harder. The ice was beginning to coat his limbs now. His fingers were turning blue and his breath puffed out fog into the air around him. On the other side of the obsidian mirror, his reflection pursed its lips and pouted. </p>
<p>“Oh, poor little songbird. Should have stayed away. Shouldn’t have gotten involved: I can hear your thoughts. And I can hear your heart: you love him.” It laughed, the sound high and inhuman. “I’m going to break him down and cut him open for you.”</p>
<p>He closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around himself as he tried to keep the cold from taking over completely. Warm tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes just to freeze on his cheeks. He’d never felt so helpless. </p>
<p>He could feel himself falling again, and the laughter of his reflection chased him back down into the dark. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he opened his eyes, he immediately knew something was wrong. He could feel every ache and pain in his body - of which there were surprisingly many - but couldn’t move anything. He could hear only a rushing in his ears, like the sound of distant waves. His eyes were open and he could see, but couldn’t move his eyes: they were fixed on the ruff beams of the wooden ceiling above him. It was as if he was an observer in his own body. </p>
<p>Yennefer’s face hoved into view, her lips pressed into a thin line, a crease between her brows. She looked off to his left and then back again, and he could see her mouth moving, but no sound accompanied it. </p>
<p>His breaths were shallow and fast, much like the pulse he could feel in his throat. Everything hurt. He longed to lick his lips, try to relieve the dryness of his tongue, but nothing would respond to his commands. Only the sound of his own voice in his head - <em> please please please please please </em> - seemed real to him. </p>
<p><em> Please let them see </em>.</p>
<p>
  <em> Please don’t hurt them. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Please let me go. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Please please please please. </em>
</p>
<p>And suddenly his body was moving, helped up by gentle hands. He watched as his own, trembling and tentative, gripped the cup of water offered and he drank it down. He felt the relief as it washed over his parched tongue. But still he had no control. No ability to reach out and warn them.</p>
<p>“Thank-you,” he heard his own voice say. “Is it over now?”</p>
<p>He looked up at Yennefer where she was frowning down at him, but she was nodding. He looked beside him, to where Geralt was sitting on the bed beside him, holding the empty cup and giving him the tiniest of smiles. </p>
<p>“You should rest,” he said, running a hand through Jaskier’s sweat-slick locks and he felt his head nodding. He felt those hands helping him back down onto the bed, under the covers. He tilted onto his side and watched them go, snuffing the candles as they left the room. </p>
<p>He felt his face twist back into that cruel smile. And he heard the voice inside his head, laughing, mocking him. “I will destroy them. And you will watch, little songbird.”</p>
<p>Jaskier tried to yell, tried to force his will back into the body around him, but nothing happened. He was trapped behind his own eyes. </p>
<p>And his reflection laughed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Reflections and refractions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This has been an absolute joy to write. I appreciate all of your comments and kudos. Thank-you!! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>All he could do was watch and listen. Watch as Geralt smiled that tiny, soft little smile at him. Listen as Yennefer told them stories of her most recent exploits in Novigrad. Felt as his body laughed and responded. It made him sick with dread and anger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He railed and screamed and wept inside his cage. But nothing he did made any difference. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next evening, as they sat comfortably on the worn furniture, basking in the warmth of the fireplace and drinking some extremely good wine that Jaskier could taste but not savour, Geralt looked over at him, frowning. “Why aren’t you playing that damnable lute, Jaskier?” he asked, gesturing with his cup. “Most of the time I could barely get you to be quiet enough to not attract unwanted attention to our campsites.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s true,” Yennefer continued. “Had to keep him occupied while his wounds healed from the werewolf, so I had him playing for nobles.” She took a sip of her wine, smirking. “Seemed to work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt snorted. “Hmm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Behind his own eyes Jaskier smiled wistfully. His reflection, however, had his lips twisted downwards in a frown. “I’m not sure I’m up for it at the moment. Having just been, you know,” he gestured vaguely at his chest, “stabbed and all.” He sighed, gazing into the fire. “Soon though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They seemed to take that at face value and changed the subject. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alone in his room that night, he could hear his reflection taunting him again. It was driving him slowly mad. It kept him awake and spoke of all the horrors it would visit upon his unsuspecting friends. He could do nothing but listen, and watch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yennefer had told him that they would be staying in the cottage for a while. That he needed to regain his strength, and Geralt and her needed time to finish tracking down whoever it was that had created his double in the first place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d looked at him suspiciously when he’d asked her why. “Obviously to make sure whoever it is doesn’t do it again. And I would think you would want some sort of justice for your friends,” she said blandly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d waved her off. Of course he wanted justice. And who was he to deny that whatever person or persons was behind all this needed to be stopped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His reflection watched her carefully after that. He kept track of her little jars of ingredients and bundles of herbs and flowers. Over the next week, when she was preoccupied elsewhere, he snatched the rarest of them, destroying them gleefully and throwing their remains down the latrine at the very back of the gardens. He watched her curse and search for them and hid his smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you lose something?” he asked, concern furrowing his brow as Yennefer dug through a stack of bottles lining a shelf in the kitchen. She’d taken over the sitting area next to it as a makeshift workroom and the table there was set up with all her potion making equipment, just like her rooms in Novigrad. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked over at him, irritation plain on her features. “There must be some vermin or something in here, stealing my things. I had an entire handful of eldermoss and now it’s gone.” She pursed her lips. “I’ll have to go find some more.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that something that can be accomplished here or - ?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Probably. The forest has lots of old trails running through it,” she said absently, still searching through the bottles. She turned to him suddenly, pinning him with her glare. “Your maps. Bring them here. I want to see how useful they’d be for an excursion.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded once before going and retrieving them from his room. Yennefer unfurled a few before finding the one she wanted, showing Valleyforge and the surrounding area in roughed out lines. She traced them with the tip of one finger, tapping the map in a few spots before seeming to make up her mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on. It’s early yet and the sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can finish this part of the spell.” Gathering a few empty bottles together and tying them in a bundle with a piece of cloth, she looked at him expectantly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You want me to go with you?” His inflection made it a question, but they both knew it was more of a statement. He shook his head. “I don’t think I’m ready to do - “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sorceress sighed in exasperation. “It’s a short ride in the woods. It’s not like I’m asking you to do anything strenuous.” She rolled the chosen maps back up and fit them carefully in their waterproof case. “And, dare I say it, the fresh air will do you good.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Efficiently, and only with a little grumbling on his part, Yennefer managed to get them both out to the stable and out onto their horses, headed back into the woods. They rode single file down the game trail, Yennefer in front on a rather put-upon looking Roach. Thorn followed closely behind, though she seemed somehow out of sorts, tossing her head and refusing to settle. Jaskier gleefully decided it was because she knew something was wrong. His reflection, annoyed with the rebellious mare, wrenched on the reins so that the bit dug into the soft edges of her lips, forcing her head down in an attempt to calm her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grinned maliciously at the specks of blood that showed in the foaming spittle that dripped from her mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yennefer seemed not to notice. She led the way deep into the forest, preoccupied with the map clutched in her hand, eyes scanning the trees around her with a single minded focus. Every so often she would put her hand up to pause them as she did something with her hands that neither Jaskier nor his reflection could see before motioning them on again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are we going, exactly?” he asked, after an interminable amount of silence. “What do you need this ingredient for, anyway? Does it have a special property? What colour is it? Oh! What does it taste like? If it’s a moss, I bet it’s all soft and dirt-like. Or maybe it has a strange woodsy flavour? Do you brew it into a tea? Or grind it into something? Or maybe - “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not answering any of your inane questions,” Yennefer drawled. “Now shut up, I need to think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grumbled at the dismissal and was quiet for about a minute before he started humming to himself. The beginnings of summer were starting to creep into the woods, meaning that the longer into the day they travelled, the thicker and warmer the air felt around them. At some point he unbuttoned his doublet, sweat slicking his brow and making his scalp and shoulders itch. He glared at Yennefer’s back. The heat didn’t seem to be affecting her at all. Her perfectly brushed hair hung in a long plait down her back, shimmering in the sunlight that dappled them through the canopy. Bronzed skin remained unmarked by beads of sweat despite the heavy fabric of her clothes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They continued on like that for what seemed hours until they broke into a natural clearing filled with wildflowers. The sun beat down on them as they dismounted and tethered the horses loosely at the edge of the meadow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He frowned. “Why are we stopping here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because these are some of the ingredients I need,” Yennefer said absently, crouching down to carefully pluck one of the white flowers from the meadow by its stem. She twirled it in her fingers for a moment before nodding. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt burst from the treeline on the far side of the clearing, hands already flitting into one of his Signs, too fast for Jaskier’s eyes to follow. The ground beneath him suddenly lit with a deep yellow light and it felt like his limbs were being sucked downwards. His face twisted in a snarl as he fought the trap, his own hands sweeping out, fingertips glowing green. He snapped his fingers and the yellow lines faded instantly, letting him dive out of the way as Yennefer threw a sparkling silver net towards him. Leaping back to his feet, he turned to meet the next attack as Geralt threw another Sign at him, trying to push him off balance with a rush of force. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a flick of his wrist he dispelled it and grinned, eyes glittering dangerously. He laughed. It was a vicious, maniacal sound that silenced everything else in the forest. Yennefer moved forward, the silver netting clasped in her hands again, and he held up a hand sharply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t. I will destroy this body before you touch it.” The voice was low and tight, but still sounded so much like Jaskier that his reflection grinned when it heard Geralt choke. “Oh, I know. You want to save him. You do have such a need to rescue the damsel in distress. To do the right thing. How well did that work for you in Cintra, Witcher?” He clicked his tongue in mock sympathy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let him go,” Geralt grated through clenched teeth. His hands were raised again, fingers twitching as if to cast another sign. Behind his own eyes Jaskier noticed he wasn’t armed. His signature swords were nowhere to be seen. It filled him with equal parts hope and despair. Geralt didn’t understand the danger he was in. Whatever their plan was, they had no intention of killing him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His reflection had no such qualms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He scoffed. “But I was just getting used to this. Such fine lines. Can’t keep your eyes off him, can you?” He slid his hands down his chest slowly, licking his lips. “You won’t hurt him. Which means you won’t hurt me. Shame, really. Now I have to change my plans.” He shrugged. “But, can’t be helped now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who is controlling you?” Yennefer asked, recapturing his attention. “Who would dare cage such power?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His smile turned almost fond. “Hmmm. Sometimes bargains must be struck to get what one wants.” He laughed again, rolling his eyes. “But yes, this is good. Because I really wanted to tell you my whole cunning plan.” He flicked his hands out, fingertips glowing an eerie green. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A small noise from behind made him whirl around, but too late. He screamed as he was enveloped in a silver net, the shimmering material clinging to his skin everywhere it touched. Dropping to the ground, he writhed as the white hot pain consumed him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it didn’t touch Jaskier. Only his reflection felt it. Jaskier watched through those wide-open eyes as Geralt and Yennefer moved closer, binding him inside the net so he couldn’t move. Yennefer leaned over and touched a fingertip to his forehead and suddenly he was awake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His body went lax as he blinked his eyes, looking up into the sorceress’ violet eyes. They stared back down at him with a great deal of consideration. A laugh bubbled its way out of his throat as he lay back against the trampled grass underneath him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jaskier?” Geralt asked, hesitantly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughed again, a short, sharp sound. “This time, I am absolutely sure.” He frowned up at the two of them. “Is it over? Am I… um… me again?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt knelt down beside him, shaking his head. “No, this is temporary. Yenn thinks it’s a binding. Someone got hold of your blood somehow and called forth this being and bound it to you.” He sighed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So… How does this work now? Am I stuck with the homicidal demon possessing me forever? Or do you have a plan?” Jaskier was beginning to feel incredibly tired all of a sudden. He could hear talking, off somewhere to his right. He turned his head slightly to see Yennefer handing over a bundle to two men who turned and walked quickly back into the forest. He frowned, brow furrowing as he turned back to the Witcher. “Did I get jumped by the mayor?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt huffed a laugh. “Hmmm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I needed someone the thing inside you couldn’t sense,” Yennefer explained as she rejoined them. She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. “I was right about it being focused, though. It wants you and I dead, anyway,” she said thoughtfully, glancing down at Geralt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier was finding it more and more difficult to keep his eyes open. There was something he needed to tell them. Something important. But it kept slipping over the edges of his thoughts like water. “Hmmm…” he mumbled. “Destroyed your ingredients, Yenn,” he said softly, his eyes just barely focusing on her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” she smirked. “Thought you were clever. Or rather, it thought so. I left out some things on purpose just to tempt it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah. Well that sounds like you.” He smiled. Drowsiness was pulling at him persistently now. He frowned again. “Said you had fallen for his trap. His master would be pleased. Said - “ he yawned before continuing. “Said he would destroy you both.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Unlikely, now.” Geralt’s voice was a deep canyon echo now and it made Jaskier sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He opened his eyes one last time, looking up at Yennefer, returning her half smile above him. “It’s… it’s a reflection,” he said muzzily. “It traded places…” The look of shock was almost enough to resist the urge of sleep. “What does that mean? Yenn? Tell me what it means.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pursed her lips, face hardening into an angry mask before she replied. “It means I know who we’re dealing with.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sleep finally dragged him down into its cold embrace. His very last thought was that he had never seen Yennefer so furious before. And that it was beautiful.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The obsidian mirror stretched out underneath him. Fear gripped him this time. He knew what was coming. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thin layer of ice that coated everything on this side of the mirror looked like frost on a window pane. As he walked across it, however, his bare feet seemed to push it back, warming the black glass beneath him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he paused to look below the surface, there was nothing there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The light was still dim here, and his breath could still be seen in a white cloud as it left his lungs, but he felt warmer. He walked further along the mirror, suddenly curious to see how far it went. The ice retreated further with every step. The air became warmer. He didn’t remember when he had started running, but his feet were flying now. It was somehow exhilarating to run full tilt over the endless expanse of darkness. His teeth clenched in a tight smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was something in the distance. He could hear it before his eyes could pick it out. A distant roaring that became all encompassing the closer he got. He slowed down as he approached and realized it was a waterfall made of glass. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Big and small shards of it tumbled over the edge. Tiny beads skittered across, adding to the volume as it flowed into the darkness below. It was mesmerizing and so loud it started to hurt his ears. He winced, touching the edge of one ear and startling as his finger came away tipped in blood. He looked back the way he’d come and then down off the edge of the obsidian shelf. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A sudden realization hit him as he stood there. This was a way out. It was brutally painful, but it would kill him and the reflection inside, if he jumped off the edge to shatter below. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He moved back, far enough that the sound didn’t hurt as much anymore, and sank to the ground. He drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. If all else failed, he had one option to save his friends. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier’s eyes snapped open and he took a deep shuddering breath. He was back in the cottage, staring up at those rough wood beams again, but this time he could flex his hands and move his eyes and he nearly sobbed with relief. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was, however, still mostly bound up in the silver netting. That was annoying. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a huffed laugh to his left and he turned his head quickly to see Geralt sitting there, smiling at him. He must have said that last part out loud. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So… I’m me but you don’t trust that I’m me?” he asked slowly. Geralt nodded, reluctantly, before helping him sit up and carefully tipping a glass of water to his lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he was finished, he set the cup down and huffed out a breath. “Yenn thought it best if we took precautions.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah. Keeping me trussed up was her idea. Kinky.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt laughed again and Jaskier suddenly felt very warm inside. He realized how much he’d missed that sound. It twisted something inside him and he sighed, catching the Witcher’s attention again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I heard what you said, even though it wasn’t me at the time. Not that you knew. But I could still hear everything.” He groaned at his own awkwardness. “I’m a fucking poet and I can’t string enough words together to say - “ he cut himself off and turned to look Geralt in the eye. “The point is, I did hear you. And I will forgive you. I just need time.” He had to look away at the obvious pained expression that flitted across the other’s face, but he pressed on. “Yennefer told me you came back, that you looked for me, after… And I didn’t believe her, not really. But having you admit you were wrong is a real novelty I’ll be holding onto for a long time.” He risked a glance back to see a small twist of the lips that could have been a smile. He sighed. “When this is over, when I’m not confined to whatever torments Yenn has concocted, then we can… talk… maybe?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmmm.” Geralt was silent for so long after that that Jaskier was suddenly afraid he would get up and leave. Instead, he finally spoke again, a hint of amusement in his voice. “We can also discuss your penchant for putting yourself in harm’s way and taking money away from myself and my brothers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier let out an indignant sound. “Taking money - ! I’ll have you know I did no such thing! There wasn’t anyone else around for miles to help! I just - “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did what was right.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words hung in the air between them and Jaskier had the good sense to blush.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
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